When A Child Is Born
by SnowStormSkies
Summary: AU.Chris is Wyatt's younger brother. He's the ignored one. The abandoned one. The one who's forgotten. Wyatt doesn't forget Chris though. He wants everything that Chris can give: mind, body and soul. Abuse, slash, incest, OOCness.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I don't own this, I make no money from it, I own neither characters nor setting, nor premise, and I intend no infringement or copyright. I make this to pay homage to the original creators and not intend in anyway to misrepresent that.**_

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**Title:** When a Child is Born

**Author: **LixiDes

**Universe: **Charmed

**Theme/Topic: **Chris/Wyatt setting on how they got together...is mildly disturbing..

**Rating: **Adult. Language, content, theme/topic rating, just to be on the safe side. It's only for those...over the age of sixteen I suppose (Eighteen in the USA). Really....

**Characters: **Chris, Wyatt, Piper, Leo, Paige, Phoebe, brief mentions of Prue....Ermmm...Anyone in the series, I suppose. Basically they'll just pop up. And there's just too many to list on here.

**Warnings/Spoilers: **Incest is the main one. Emm...Abuse, D/s relationship, language....(is trying not to make the same mistake she made with BSP and put too many warnings.) Incest and male/male relationships...Odd. I'm so used to slash now, I even forget to qualify whether it's het or slash...I just...assumed.

**Word Count: **1948 words (and that's just the first chapter!)

**Time: **Errm...Started back in about 2005 and then stuck it on my computer and forgot about it until now...Spent about two days writing more and sprucing it up...

**Summary: **Chris is Wyatt's younger brother. He's the ignored one. The abandoned one. The one who's forgotten. Wyatt doesn't forget Chris though. Wyatt wants something more than just a filial relationship though....

**Dedication: **Someone....who cares....-has no idea who or what inspired this- .

**A/N: **Basically my interpretation on the relationship of Chris and Wyatt, set in the intervening years after Chris was born. A very macabre take on their relationship with Wyatt being a complete evil bastard that we know he is...And it's all about how Chris is the Forgotten One and Wyatt does the Incest thing because he can...-is makign a right hash of this...- Umm...Again, like CN: KND fic, it's being put on the backburner until I either find isnpirtation or at least until I get some reviews. More likely the latter.

**Distribution: **Warn me please but then you'll be free to take. Just a word of warning; please don't try and pass it off for your own work. It's unfair and it's not going to help you or me. I don't mind if you stick on the moon if you credit me somewhere even if it's really small at the end. Rant over...For now.

"Disclaimer: I do not own {Charmed}, and I do not make any money from these writings."

Though it seems some people cannot read and have decided that I don't have the right disclaimer. May I point you in the direction of the topic which you created: "Disclaimer: I do not own {FANDOM}, and I do not make any money from these writings." Yeah well...I don't own it used to be good enough...

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**When a Child is Born – Chapter One**

When a child is born, it is a great occasion for all involved. For the parents it is a chance to show love and affection to a product of their love, to share and rejoice in caring for someone they created. Together. For the relatives it is a chance to spoil the child, shower them with gifts and presents and to pass on knowledge and skills, stories and tales from their youth, to enjoy the child. For the child, it is a time to live, to enjoy the love and gifts bestowed upon them. Every birthday after that should be the same.

And that's exactly what Wyatt got...And I didn't.

I am sure many people can remember a birthday party they had, at least one if not more. I can remember my brother's. There were toys and guests and fairies and Elders and cake and many games. He was six, and I was three I think. My mother placed me in the play pen, even though I was meant to be too old for it. "We don't want Wyatt's big day to be spoiled, do we?" Mummy told me, as she put me in there. I was quite happy to play by myself, all the other children being too old for me to play with. They were all five and six year olds from the magic school, the friends of my brother. I didn't mind. I was quite content to play with my toy cars and to talk to my bear. I just pretended and the mind of a three year old is full of ideas to pretend with. I can remember watching my Mummy and Daddy holding Wyatt, and Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige with Uncle Coop and Uncle Darren touching them as the man who my father called an Elder blessed them. The lights from the ceiling were gold and silver, and people came down with the fire – it was my Grams and Nana. And then there was hundreds of the women, all of them smiling at the family, all bunched together. I was still in my play pen, in the living room away from where the Elder and the family were. I thought it was a birthday thing. Something that Wyatt would get now and I would get on my birthday. I can remember watching the faces of my family, shining and smiling in the light from the spirits surrounding them, the scene looking perfect. Whole. Without me. But I was too young to realise it, to remember that I too should have been there.

I was only three...

Just approaching my fourth birthday and I can remember thinking that I wanted the same thing. I wanted the same kinds of toys and I wanted an Elder to come to bless me and my family and I wanted to cut the cake and enjoy it so completely, so totally that I would remember it forever. That night, I remember I prayed hard. I must have knelt beside my bed for nearly an hour, praying to have such a present filled, such a wild party. It was every child's dream. It was Wyatt's dream come true. It was my dream. But it was only a dream.

I can remember my fourth birthday like it was yesterday. I'm told no child can remember that far back, but I can. Something to do I suppose with being a witch. But anyway, I arrived downstairs, hoping for the chocolate chip pancakes my mother made for my brother's birthday. I was already imagining the taste, the feel and the smell as I arrived in the kitchen, expecting a hug and a big "Happy Birthday!" Just like the one Wyatt got. I wasn't expecting any different. I was four that day and I knew magic could do anything. What else was I to expect? I knew in my heart nothing could spoil my day. I wouldn't let it.

I didn't. They did. My mother was leaning over the stove, cooking away at a big cauldron. The one used for potions. There were hundreds of bottles and jars and bits of herbs littering the countertops, the island in the middle of the kitchen covered in them. As I walked into the room, the smell wafted over me. It wasn't the smell of a freshly done chocolate chip pancake or the smell of a freshly iced chocolate chip birthday cake. I don't think I'll ever forget that smell; it haunts my nightmares for some reason, bleeding into them. It's the smell of blood, iron and cold and it never fails to make me remember my fourth birthday. My mother was brewing a potion for the capture of a demon, a creature of evil. I thought that she was just pretending, or maybe it was a cover up to hide my birthday cake. That smell is distinctive and I thought they were playing a joke. I thought they would pretend they didn't know until I mentioned it. They did the same thing to my brother. I knew that they wouldn't carry it on long though. They didn't for Wyatt. So I said, "Hi, Mummy!" I was ready to have the joke revealed to me, to see it end, and my mother to turn around, and present me with a hug and a "Happy Birthday, Peanut!" I was four, not a genius. It never came...

She waved her hand at me, "Go and talk to your brother or something. I'm busy right now."

I tried to catch her attention but she didn't even look at me. Just waved the spoon at me, and told me to get a shift on. I can remember the potion hitting my face, just a few drops. I didn't cry out, even though it ate into my skin, and she didn't notice. She just shoved me out. I have never lost the scars from that. Three long scars, from where the potion hit me, where that potion ate my skin. It was just a few drops; I suppose I should count myself lucky that she didn't have a full ladle full. I could have been blinded. I tried to get my father, an Elder to heal it but he never did. He was playing with my brother, swinging him up and down in his arms while my brother laughed and shrieked in his arms. He didn't even look at me when I came into the room. He never does. Not now, not ever. I think he pretends he doesn't see me most of the time.

I left them playing. I told myself I never wanted to play with them anyway. I never wanted to play with the Twice-Blessed child anyway. I never did, I told myself. I pretended in my heart and I faked it. I wanted nothing more to play those games with my brother, and my father. I wanted to watch a video, to be swung up in his arms, to read with him, I wanted to be special to my dad. I wanted to be someone he wanted to be with; my aunts Phoebe and Paige, or my mother, or my grandfather or even my brother. I would give anything to be there.

I can remember sitting on the stairs, waiting for the joke to end. Waiting for someone to tell me "Happy Birthday!" and to tell me it was all over, that I could have presents and cake, and an Elder would bless me and my family. I can remember smelling that potion, feeling the burning sensation of the potion eating into my skin, the sound of my brother's and my father's laughter filling my ears. Where was my cake, my presents? At that point I would have settled for a cupcake and a candle.

It never came.

My mother left the house with her sisters, my aunts by Orbing. My father took my brother outside in the garden, and I was left alone on the stairs. I wanted nothing more than to cry and throw a tantrum and to get my presents. I was a four year old. Not as powerful as my brother but I still counted for something. I was still my parent's son, wasn't I? I deserved a party as much as he did, didn't I? I'd been so good, I'd tried so hard to stay out of trouble, not to reveal my powers to mortals, to stay away from Demons, not to mess around with the Book of Shadows or the potion ingredients. I hadn't begged for sweets or asked for extra presents in the run up to my birthday. I'd been sure to be extra good so Mummy and Daddy would be proud of me, and they would throw the best party for me. I was four not a genius, I didn't know how the world went around.

I sat there for hours, wondering when it would happen, when the joke would end. I think I finally accepted it when the clock struck midday and no-one came for me. When there was no presents, no party, and my aunts' husbands didn't come home. I think I went to my room, and I sat in my special corner. I liked to sit there, you could see the whole room but no-one could see you unless you stuck a foot out or something. I know that I didn't. I didn't want to be found.

I slept, and only woke up when the clock struck midnight. I was four years old. And no-one but me cared. Suddenly footsteps were across the hall, and then in my room. Peering out from my corner, I came face to face with Wyatt. He was a big seven year old, I'd heard my father telling Uncle Coop that on Wyatt's birthday. He was tall, taller than me who was still a dinky four year old.

"Mummy doesn't love you." He said, looking at his feet. I remember not believing it, and true to my four year old self, I scoffed.

"Of course Mummy loves me. I'm her son too."

"Then why didn't you get a birthday party? Or a cake? Or an Elder? Or even a Happy Birthday?" He smiled at me. Even at that age, he had the evil smirk down pat. It didn't look threatening on a seven and a half year old but to a four year old witch, the son of an Elder and a Charmed One, not much did unless it came with a demonic set of powers. "Daddy said, he couldn't be bothered with all that. He said he didn't love you either."

"Daddy loves me." A four year old's conviction.

"Then why didn't he heal you? Why doesn't he play games with you? Why doesn't he do anything with you at all?" Wyatt leaned closer to me. "Why can't he look at you?"

"I...It..." I couldn't explain. I was four and a child, and a confused one at that. Teetering on the brink of crying, and in the face of the 'older brother' superior knowledge I was powerless.

"Happy Birthday, Chris." He left, his laughter just an echo on the breeze as the door closed behind him.

I was four years old and I'd had my first brush with my brother's evil side. He was seven, and already could play the games that few could or would. All I remember after that is crying. And praying that perhaps this would be the only time.

It wasn't the only time.

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**Hey, you lot~!**

**Just me cross posting like with the rest of my stuff. And on other note, did you see the nice big disclaimer up there? It's to ward off nice mods who aren't happy with my disclaimers. Hopefully that'll do it! **

**Erm...Not much else to tell you on this. Seriously, please review, the next chapter should be posted very soon, within the week I should think, and other than that...**

**Review please! I think is all that's left to say!**

**Adios!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I don't own this, I make no money from it, I own neither characters nor setting, nor premise, and I intend no infringement or copyright. I make this to pay homage to the original creators and not intend in anyway to misrepresent that.**_

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_Hey, it's me you guys, and here's the next chapter. Excessively short, I know, but this couldn't go on the end of the last one, for reasons only known to my muse and it can't go on the next chapter because of the extreme time shift, so here it had to go. So bite me._

_More comments at the bottom, and thanks to all who reviewed on **AFF(.)net** and made my day, several times._

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**When a Child is Born**

**-Chapter Two-**

When my fifth birthday came around, I made sure I was extra _extra_ good. I was even better behaved than I was last year. I knew I'd been good, even though no-one had told me. I just thought they didn't want me to know that they knew I was being good, in case it gave me ideas about my birthday.

It went the exact same way. Nobody acknowledged it. No-one gave me a Happy Birthday or even a hug. They went demon hunting again, left me alone with my father and my brother. I thought, even hoped that it was all a lie. It wasn't. I realised that when it came to midnight and no-one had wished me a happy birthday. It's a simple saying but it makes such a difference.

I went to my special corner again, hoping that the day would just turn into a dream – that life would begin again, and I'd have my birthday. I didn't. Wyatt found me again.

"Mummy and Daddy still don't love you?" I was five now, and old enough to know that sometimes some people's mummies and daddies don't love their children like they should. I knew that sometimes Mummies and Daddies love one child more than another, and don't like some of their own children. I just never expected it to be my family. But then again, you never do, do you? But Wyatt was still talking. "Mummy and Daddy don't love you, do they Chris?"

I was five. Old enough to have fight in me, and old enough to believe in something with a loyalty and dedication that would put the Marines to shame. Semper Fi. I knew in my five year old heart that something was wrong with my relationship with my parents and my brother but like any male of species, I push it aside. I know that it's wrong, but it's instinctive. I do it anyway. "Mummy and Daddy love me. They just..."

"Forgot?" Wyatt laughed and that laugh was evil. No eight year old should be able to produce that sound. I think then was my first indication that I was sitting before my brother, who would become the source of all Evil. He was still walking the line then I think though. I hope so anyway. "They didn't forget my birthday. They didn't forget Aunt Phoebe's or Aunt Paige's. Just yours."

"I..." Just as the year before I was struck dumb in the overwhelming truth. They hadn't. Other people's birthdays had been celebrated. Just not mine.

"It's alright Chris." Wyatt leaned down and touched my shoulder. "I didn't forget." He placed a wrapped parcel in my hands and left. His laughter followed him, in the closing of the door.

I stared at the parcel in my hands. It was box shaped, perhaps a foot long. It was thin, and quite heavy. I pulled off the brown paper wrapping and found a ebony box. Opening it, I found an object wrapped in a black cloth. I unwrapped it, and stared at what it revealed. An athame, with a handle of dark wood and inlaid with wire. It's beautiful in a sort of dark-ish way. But the blade, though in some places bright and shining silver, was covered with some kind of dried dark power. I ran a finger over it. It doesn't come off. I shrugged it off. It's a present. The first in two years and Wyatt was the only one to remember my birthday.

I didn't know it at the time, but it was the blade that killed my future/alternate future self. It was my blood on the blade. Wyatt had given me my death back again, and I was only five years old.

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_**Hey, loving you all~**_

_**Please review while I finish cross posting~**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer: I don't own this, I make no money from it, I own neither characters nor setting, nor premise, and I intend no infringement or copyright. I make this to pay homage to the original creators and not intend in anyway to misrepresent that._**

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**Oh Good Lord. Here you go, Chapter Three. I had this on my system and just...God, you know when RL just goes UP AND UP AND OVER YOUR BLOODY HEAD? Hmm? Yeah. **

**That's been my life for the last few weeks. But hey-ho. We'll get by.**

**Here's the review replies as well. **

**Guardian Dimension – **_The by-play is good? Awesome praise there! Evolution of this story is not in my hands, (rather it's in the hands of my muse) but I can promise you it will be good! And here's some more for you to read! Thanks for reviewing! _

**Angel's Smile – **_Good to know that I can write something enjoyable and here's a new chapter for you. Not very long, I'll grant you, but the next one should be up tomorrow. _

**Ffeona 'sarcasm-is-my-drug' – **_Actual Plotline is coming, hold your horses... Time waits for no man, but this fic is dependant on the limitations of my time on here! XxX_

**Mana-Reader – **_Yes, this is set in the Changed Future. Wyatt is going to be explained soon enough, and so is Leo and the Charmed Ones (I assume that's what Co's stood for) And trust in this Author. I have a plan of where this is going. It'll come out soon enough. Have a little faith~ And here's an update before the story really gets rolling. _

**SoraElric – **_I love depressing stories too...I dunno. Maybe it's the inner emo in me that loves them~. Wyatt got that athame from somewhere. We'll come to that soon. _

**Jazmingirl – **_Thanks for reviewing!_

**LucyCharmed3 **_– Thanks for reviewing and the encouragement! _

**MDarKspIrIt **_– I think that's how you put your name... I feel bad for Chris too... But then again, life is cruel! He'll have someone fighting for him, but not maybe in the way he thought..._

**_For all those that reviewed, once again a MASSIVE thank you to you, and the next chapter is for all you guys! _**

**And I know this is a short chapter - it gets started _next _chapter. **

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**  
Chapter Three**

**When A Child is Born**

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Every year it was the same. No-one acknowledged my increasing age. I think that people just forgot about me. I mean I wasn't the loudest person in the house. I woke before everyone else, caught the bus to a different school to everyone else, arrived back before everyone else, and spent the rest of the time in my room. I slept, ate, and lived in my room and the bathroom. I think I saw my father twice in four years. I just never bothered with anything with them.

I think you get the message that you're not wanted when you are sent to stay with your grandfather when the rest of the family, now with four of Phoebe's children, two from Paige, and my two younger sisters, plus the adults and Wyatt go jetting off to Disneyland, Florida. I came home to find a note pinned to the door, _"Go to Grandpa's. He knows you're coming. See you in two weeks."_ Nothing says abandonment like that. The only person who signed it was Wyatt. I think my parents hadn't even remembered me. I wondered why, I was nine years old. Correction: Ten. It was my birthday that day. The day I learnt what abandonment meant.

I stayed with Grandpa. He wasn't in too often, down the checkers and chess club or out in the park or taking care of the Manor. I didn't dare go back there, I feared what would happen to me. I slept on his couch, cooked the meals and cleaned the place once or twice. I had nothing. No books, no toys, just me and my cooking pot.

When they came back, I was sat on the steps of the Manor. I had been there since nine that morning, and it was ten at night. There is no limit to my patience, even at ten years old. It was fear that kept me sat there, fear that they would lock me out, and I'd have to climb up a creeper or something to get in. It wouldn't be unheard of, as it wouldn't be the first time someone in this family had done that. My Aunt Phoebe had apparently quite the wild streak as a teenager.

"Hi." That was the welcome I got. Hi. Way to say you missed me Mom. Way to explain why I don't get the holiday. Way to explain how you thought taking fifteen people to Florida meant taking the whole fucking family when the whole fucking family means sixteen. Wyatt came up to me, and said, vaguely apologetic like, "I'm sorry we just left like that. I should have made them wait and explain." No, Wyatt. You shouldn't have done that. You should have asked why they are leaving me out of a family holiday. Why I'm shoved off to the other side of town for two weeks, when you're sunning yourself on the rides of the world's biggest theme park. That's what you should have made them explain. But I don't speak. I'm ten, and old enough to know that sometimes we just have to make do with our lot in life.

I have to make do. I wish I didn't but I do. I have to.

I was fourteen when my parents decided that they didn't need me in my own room anymore. I hated that. Dad said it to me, when I was just opening the door to my room, having been at school for a long day. All I wanted was to curl up in my bed and sleep for a week. I wouldn't get twenty four hours.

"Oh Chris..." Oh. Dad's remembered my name. "You'll be moving in with Wyatt. The girls need another room. One room isn't big enough for four so they need a new room." My room is the smallest room in the house. You can spread your arms to touch either wall, and forget about swinging a cat. My bed takes up most of the room, my one foot square closet and bookcase most of the rest. I have enough room to get to my corner, and to have a three foot long by one foot wide walk way. It's not exactly spacious and the only reason I don't have to share with someone is because I volunteered to have the little room. Only it seems...I'm not having that privilege any more. "We're knocking through the walls."

They go into the house, their laughter ringing off the walls. I'm left outside, clothed in the same clothes I have been for the last two weeks, down the underwear, without a thing to call my own in my hands or in my arms.

"I'll help you move your stuff." Wyatt makes the offer seem so much more than it is.

"...Thanks." It's more than they offered to do...

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_**Love you all, **_

_**And please review! **_

_**Have a nice life!**_

_**SSS~**_


	4. Chapter 4

Review replies on another chapter, author going back to bed....

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**When a Child is Born**

**Chapter Four**

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By the time I arrive home from school the next day, all my stuff is gone from my room. My single picture of Tokyo at night is placed beside my small bed that I've had since I was six. I've had it eight years and my feet stick over the end but it's comfy. And warm. And familiar. But that's all to change apparently. A small pile of clothes and a stack of books lay on top of it. My whole life could fit into a two by four square feet box.

Wyatt comes up behind me. "What's wrong?" His hand on my shoulder is heavy. A big man of seventeen, nearly eighteen, and he shows it; the way he walks, the way he talks. I'm still a lowly fourteen year old. Nearly fifteen but...still...I'm small, thin...Pathetic. "Come on, Chris. Tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I'm fourteen years old. I shouldn't cry anymore. "Nothing's wrong."

"...Yeah, right." A hand snakes around my waist, another one folds itself from my hip to my shoulder, trapping me within his arms. "What's up, Chrissy?" He always calls me that when he's trying to find something out. I shouldn't give in.

"Nothing. I have to move my things." I don't give in. But every part of me wants to.

The first thing we are to move is the bookcase. Not my one. That one is returned to the attic where I salvaged it from. This one is a new one: I salvaged it as well from the heaving _growing_ mass of junk in the attic. Made of oak and it holds all Wyatt's books and mine too, few of them though they are. It's tall too, touches the ceiling. Between Wyatt and I, we move it into his room. It fits next to the window. My wardrobe won't fit in the room. It's banished to my eldest sister's room, where she will no doubt cover it in many stickers and fill it with make-up and female things. My few clothes are placed in a drawer in Wyatt's dresser. I count them in, and I suddenly realise just how little I have to call my own.

My books aren't all mine. I never bought most of them. Library give aways, rented books or even some I've pulled from dumpsters and trashcans. A few I've picked up at the park left by people or tourists, some people have given to me. Some I pulled from the garage, others I retrieved from the attic. My eyes are drawn to the four I did buy. The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers and Return of the King. Four books, which I have come to treasure and to appreciate and to enjoy.

My clothes can all be held in one hand. A sweatshirt, a couple of pairs of jeans, a few pairs of socks and underwear and three shirts and a t-shirt. My whole wardrobe. I own two pairs of shoes; one of which I haven't touched since Cousin Melinda's Blessing two years before. My other pair is a pair of very battered old converse. They have holes in the sole, the upper is peeling away and the laces are little more than strings holding them together. And I still wear them, rain or shine, wind or snow. They're all I have. I don't want to lose them.

When I have hung my picture of Tokyo on the wall and stashed my books in the bottom few shelves of the bookcase, the only thing left to move is my bed.

"Wyatt?" I'm curious how he's going to fit my bed into this room. My bed isn't that big but Wyatt's bed is huge. A double king size I think. Despite the space he has in his room, I don't think my bed will fit into his room. At the foot of his bed is a two seater sofa – brown leather with cream cushions. Putting my bed in there would block either the bookcase, the door, the wardrobe, the way to the ensuite bathroom or the dresser. Where will my bed go?

"Yeah, Chrissy?"

"Where will my bed go?"

"Bed? What bed?" Wyatt's expression is confused. Genuinely confused.

I look outside the door to point at it, to show him my bed that I've had for years, and it's no longer there. Where the hell did it go, and where the hell will I sleep now?

"See Chris? There's no bed for you out here." Wyatt places a heavy hand on my shoulder. "You'll sleep on the couch. Okay?"

I'm too tired to argue. It was my last day of school today. The summer break starts tomorrow and since the teachers have arranged a massive strike for the three months and a half of the new term which starts in September I have a full five and a half months for a holiday. Wyatt has the same even though he attends a different school from me, only due his teachers being on the same strike. My sisters and cousins who attend yet another different school don't. And they're so jealous of us. Their summer breaks don't start for another month. And then they're off to Summer School followed by camp. And then they go back in September. We don't go back until mid-December. And there's talking of extending the strike even further – but mom will kill them if they do. It took her a week to be convinced we don't need to switch schools. I'm actually glad that the family is not going to around too much. It's very noisy when they are. I'm really tired and all I want to do is fall asleep for a week. A couch is as good as anything.

Wyatt looks at me critically. He's always doing that to me now; looking me up and down almost like he were evaluating me. I just think it's time I ignored it. "Go to sleep, Chrissy."

I do. I fall asleep on the couch, covered in a blanket of Wyatt's and a cream cushion for a pillow. It's summer, the sunlight is blazing in, the rest of the family is in the garden and Wyatt is reclining on his bed, reading quietly. I sleep a deep sleep. I don't dream or wake up, even when my father comes in to say goodnight to Wyatt. I don't stir. I never do.

I wake up to hear the sounds of the birds outside singing and the shower running. I sit up, run my hands through my hair. It's too long now, I think while I tug on it, it's gone past my shoulders. I pull the blanket back over my legs and wait for the bathroom to become free. The rest of the family will be using the main bathrooms on this floor and the others, and I'm not in the mood to deal with small children now. The shower stops and sure enough a minute or so later, Wyatt walks out, his hair wet and the towel slung around his waist. "Shower's free."

"Thank you." I walk in there, and I close the door behind me. I wish there was a lock on the door, I've always been a private person, and now I can't lock the door. Partly I fear someone walking in on me, and partly I like to have control. If the door is locked then people know to not come in, even if half of our family can orb into a room if they wanted. It's the common courtesy rule in this house and if Mom finds out someone broke it, she'll bind your powers for a week. She's big on keeping powers for the No-Personal Gain aspect only. I can still remember the crack across the back of the head she gave me for summoning the salt to me at the dinner table. I was only four. Not exactly Einstein material.

I take a towel from the cupboard under the sink and I strip out of my boxers and my t-shirt. I don't want to wait, I love showering in peace and quiet. I'll take a long forty minute one every day if I could but I can't. Sixteen people in a house means showers are quick affairs in the communal bathrooms and only the grown-ups and Wyatt have their own bathrooms off their bedrooms. I used to wish I had a bathroom of my own like that, but I didn't and I had to make do with the shared bathrooms. Now I hope I can take more advantage of an almost always free bathroom.

I spend over an hour in the bathroom, cleaning myself and then just relaxing under the eight way jets of steaming hot water. Peace and quiet and just comforting steam. That's my whole world for this hour and I just take it as that. I don't look for anything in the shower other than the peace and quiet of sixty minutes away from the rest of the world. In here's there's no cousins, no giggling girls, no school work, no tests, no demons and no potions. In here, there's just me, some steam, hot water and soap. And that's all I need. An hour passes and I just enjoy a blissful shower and then I sink down and allow the water to wash over my newly cleaned skin, perching on the shower stool in the bottom of the shower tray. Finally stirring from my blissful mediation, I stand, using the wall of the shower to help me.

Sudden the door is open, and even through the plastic door of the shower, I can feel the blast of colder air from Wyatt's room rush into the bathroom. "Chrissy?" Wyatt's standing there, his expression...something odd. I can't define it, nor explain it. But it's not an expression I've seen before on his face. "Are you coming out of there anytime soon?"

"Be right out, Wyatt." I turn to switch the shower off, and then turn around to open the door. I expect Wyatt to be gone, but he's still standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his bare chest, his jeans riding low. He looks...intent and he's looking at me. I'm glad of the fact that the shower door is misted from the steam and on top of that, it's got a pattern on it; cirrus clouds so people can't see in so well. I still feel exposed beyond all reason though, from his gaze.

"Hurry up, Chrissy. Get moving." Wyatt's voice is low, and it sounds...strangely familiar but at the same time scarily strange coming from his mouth.

I wait for him to leave, but he doesn't. He just settles in, leaning on the door frame, making no move to shut the door. I try to use my powers to slam the door shut, but Wyatt's hand shoots out and slams into the wood before it can move five inches. "My door, Chrissy. I say when it can shut." I can feel his eyes wandering up and my body and I wonder why he's doing that. I'm not exactly the most impressive of specimens when it comes to the male body. I'm skinny, pale and generally pathetic in the muscles department. "Towel, Chrissy?"

"Please." Wyatt doesn't hold the towel out to me, he just keeps it in his hand, and if I want it, I have to step outside the safety of the shower. I debate for a second. I can stay in here, or I can orb out, but I don't think I can orb anywhere very well when I'm wet and naked. If I misplace my landing, like I've done before, then I'm likely to be showing off my family jewels to the rest of the family or to at least one member, and if I stay in here, I could be in here a long time. A long long time, since Wyatt is known for his patience and he doesn't give up, so that's out of the question.

Wyatt, though, is apparently bored with my debates and ,narrowing his eyes, he pulls the door to the shower open with his powers. "Out, Chrissy." I stick my hands in front of my privates and stalk out of the shower, glaring at him. I grab the towel from his outstretched hand. I don't look at him as I wind it around my waist, and ignore him. He's just chuckling away, laughing as I stalk into the bedroom, going to my drawer in the dresser. I pull out a pair of boxers, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and try to walk back into the bathroom to get dressed. Only Wyatt's stood there and he's being a bastard because he won't let me back into the bathroom, and he's got his arm across the door way and his body in the way. I just spin on my heel and go to stand over by the dresser. I pull on my t-shirt and put my boxers on under the towel; and then I pull on my jeans and chuck the towel onto the pile of dirty clothes pulling itself out of the dirty clothes bin. Wyatt is laughing under his breath as he pulls himself away from the bathroom door and just then a knock comes on the door.

"Wyatt? Are you up?"

"Yes, Mom. And so is Chris." I'm surprised he mentioned it, since I'm so habitually ignored.

"Oh. Anyway, breakfast is in five minutes, so come down and lay the table. Both of you."

"Will do." He looks at me, with his blonde hair and his big blue eyes and I wonder why I feel a sliver of evil eating its way down my spine. It's not a pleasant feeling. "Come on, Chrissy. Breakfast."

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*Yawns* Ergh... There's your chapter...


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, everyone. It's been a busy few months and I know several of you have been begging for an update, so here it is. Bright and early, on a Sunday morning (well, twenty past four on a Sunday afternoon, but you get my meaning).**

**Thank you for your patience, and please stick with me~!**

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**When a Child is Born**

**Chapter Five**

"_Will do." He looks at me, with his blonde hair and his big blue eyes and I wonder why I feel a sliver of evil eating its way down my spine. It's not a pleasant feeling. "Come on, Chrissy. Breakfast." _

"Yay." I'm not exactly thrilled but I follow him down the stairs and into the dining room. It's full of the smell of pancakes and frying eggs and bacon. Mom always puts on a feast in the morning and today is no exception to the rule. Wyatt collects the plates from the cupboard and I pick up the cutlery from the drawer and start laying it around the table. Wyatt is always behind me, putting the plates down where I'm trying to lay to lay down the forks and spoons and knives and I'm just tipping the angry scale. But I know, if I shout at him, Mom will come in here and take his side, or Dad will and if Dad does, I'll be taking the trash out for the rest of my holiday. If not forever. I just try to ignore him, and try to block out the heat from his body when he leans real close to me, so close, I can feel his chest on my back, his hips to my ass, his chin resting on the top of my head. It's hard to ignore him though, my mind keeps returning to the heat and the warmth and the feeling of magic emanating from him. I hate him for doing that. It's so underhanded.

I count the plates and I pause. I count them again, then, "Wyatt?"

"Yes, Chrissy?"

"You've set out sixteen plates." I'm confused.

"There's sixteen members in this family, Chrissy. I'd have thought you'd know that."

I say nothing. For the last six years or so, I think I've eaten breakfast with the family twice. No, three times. All three of them Christmases. On my eleventh, thirteenth and fourteenth Christmases. Normally, I wake up earlier than when mom cooks breakfast, which she starts cooking at quarter past seven. I try to wake up at six in the morning, and then I just take a pastry from the pantry or pour myself a bowl of dry cereal. I can eat either of those in about five minutes flat, you see; so I don't have to face mom or dad or any of my family. No-one in this house wakes up before seven, and even then most people don't get up till half past seven. After I've eaten, I wash my bowl or plate up, dry them and put them back. You probably couldn't even tell I ate in that room when I tidy up. Then I grab some stuff for my lunch; maybe a plastic tub of some leftover like stew, or maybe a couple of apples if there isn't any. With sixteen people living in our house, and what with my sisters, and cousins having sleepovers a lot, sometimes I don't get to the leftovers before anyone else does. Then I go upstairs, get in the shower and out again in ten minutes, get dressed in my room and then collect my school bag from my room. I'm leaving the house, to catch the half seven bus to my school across the other side of the city. The bus picks me up from three blocks over, and there isn't another one until seven at night if you miss it, so I always try to get there early. I read a book if I'm early, I always have one or three in my bag.

For dinner, it depends. Really, these days, I'm not hungry enough to brave eating with the family; or I cannot deal with the screaming girls. I haven't been able to deal with them since I was seven, when I started the whole 'I'll eat on my own in my room" deal. I still do it now, and mom's never yelled at me for it. Probably because she never notices – when I wash my breakfast things up, I wash up my stuff from lunch and dinner the day before. I come home from school at twenty to five; I'm usually one of about three people in the house. Mom doesn't get home from P3 or her restaurant until six; Dad is sometimes with the Elders, or even more occasionally, at Magic School. Aunt Paige is always working at Magic School until dinner time, Uncle Henry down at the golf course he manages until six. My cousins and my sisters have band or cheerleading practise on Mondays, choir practise Wednesdays, 'community help' Thursdays where they work down at the library or at a soup kitchen or an old people's home. It's some school project that they all take part in, for some reason. I think it gives them enough credit to not take some classes, and they have tutoring on Tuesdays and Fridays. They don't get home till five o'clock on their school bus. Aunt Phoebe works at the paper until five and Uncle Coop...does something until half five.

Wyatt is usually number two of the three people at home; his bus comes at half four. The last person is usually Dad. He is always doing some DIY thing around the house, or doing some great Elder thing to do with mediation or something weird like that. Nothing that ever seems productive, I have to say. But he's nearly always at home, but he never talks to me, only Wyatt. I just ignore him. I usually head straight for the kitchen, extract a couple of rolls from the bread bin, and maybe a banana if I feel _adventurous_. Sometimes, I'll nick some more leftovers from the fridge. I don't mind particularly what is there. Sometimes, I'll have a dinner of stew, bread and banana, sometimes some whole chicken legs, sometimes some chicken soup. I put it on a plate or in bowl after I finished heating it, or doing whatever with it, cover it with foil and take it upstairs with my bag, to my room. And then I won't emerge for the _whole_ night, until I need the bathroom, and even then I try to be quick. I honestly don't think I've seen many members of my family over the last six years. Not many at all.

I'm always asleep really early as well; nine or ten o'clock. To be honest, I don't have a television in my room, I do any work I need a computer for at school during lunch or before my bus comes and my homework is two hours of blissful peace and quiet. Then I'll read for a few hours and then I'll sleep. It's a boring life for some, but it's mine.

At least it was. For the next five and a half months, I'm confined to a different life, and I can't be sure what I'll be doing all the time.

"Hey, Chrissy..." Wyatt's calling my name and telling me I have to get a move on. Mom's going to be coming through with dishes of food and stacks of other stuff, and I'm still laying the cutlery. Quickly I put down the knives and forks in the right places and not a moment too soon, because Mom is pushing the door open with her elbow and placing a big china bowl on the table, covered with a glass lid.

"Oh. Christopher." Mom's never called me anything but Christopher for last five, six years. I don't think she wants to call me Chris anymore, and as for _Peanut_... Well, even I'm glad to hear the back of _that_ nickname. "Are you joining us for breakfast?"

"Yes." I don't see why I should be any more pleasant to her than she is to me.

"Oh. Wyatt, honey, have you set a place for him?"

"Yes, mom. _I_ wouldn't forget our Chrissy..."

The implication that only he wouldn't forget me and that she would is so clear to me, that I'm afraid that I might laugh. Wyatt's mom's precious baby, her one true son. The fact that he's calling her up on forgetting me is so hysterical and out of the ordinary, I daren't look at either of them. If I laugh now, I'll never see the light of day again.

"I'm sure you wouldn't, Wyatt. You're such a good boy like that." Mom does the whole simpering over Wyatt and I really really want to be sick now. It's annoying, humiliating and embarrassing to know that your older brother is being complimented for doing something which no-one should have to compliment because it should come naturally. Seriously, to be anywhere other than here would be welcome.

"Yeah, thank mom. Need any more help?"

"Thank you, Wyatt. If you could and get some of the platters, it'd be a big help, honey!" God, any more of this fawning behaviour and I swear I'm going to throw up.

"Come on, Chrissy. Come give me a hand." Wyatt pulls my hand until I follow him into the kitchen. The island in the middle is covered with platters and marvel slightly at the amount of food that's present. Two platters of fried eggs, three of bacon, a huge wide dish full of sausages, a jug of maple syrup, three large stacks of pancakes, three jugs of milk, one of orange juice. A KeepWarm jug of coffee, and another of apple juice and several small bowls of fruit. Wow. Mom cooks up an awful lot in the mornings.

Wyatt hands me a platter of bacon and a bowl of fruit and I roll my eyes. Trust him to think I'm incapable of doing so myself. Taking it into the dining room, I come face to face with my sisters. They look at me open mouthed and wide eyed. It's kind of funny, when I notice that none of them have noticed how they resemble a trio of really ugly drainpipe gargoyles.

"Chris?" My blond sister looks at me with an expression of vague wonder in her eyes. I shouldn't wonder why; I've barely seen her in the last four years. Maybe the odd glimpse at Christmas and on someone's birthday but other than that....Well...Not much contact with the world outside my books, have I.

"Yeah, Melinda?" I place the platter and bowl on the table and place my hands on the back of the chair in front of me. Wyatt's listening just behind the door, I can see his shadow in the glass but I don't think the others can see it.

"...It's...nice to see you." She waves her hand at me, while smiling weakly. Excellent. I haven't seen you, dear darling sister, for the last four years and all you have to say is "it's nice to see you." Wonderful. I can't _imagine _why I would choose to escape into books over this lot. Oh wait, I can – because in my books, I don't have to deal with anything that's not pre-set out and arranged into neat plotlines.

"Yeah. Thanks." I nod to Annabelle and Cassandra and turn to go back into the kitchen. Wyatt is standing in front of the door now, evidently deeming the moment worthy of his presence. It's weird, all five of Mom and Dad's children in the same place at once; something which, like I said, hasn't happened for years.

"Annabelle, honey, would you come help me take this laundry upstairs – Oh." Aunt Phoebe walks into the room, closely followed by Uncle Coop. "Hey, you four – Chris?"

"Chris makes five, don't you, Chris?" Wyatt makes a not so subtle poke at Aunt Phoebe's complete disregard for me. "Say hi to Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Coop, Chris."

"Hi, Aunt Phoebe. Uncle Coop." I sound calm. That's good. Any more people turn up and I'm likely to have an aneurysm. Can't deal with so many members of my family at once. Haven't had to in years. I'm starting to feel nervous; the butterflies in my belly are beginning to wake up. I mustn't loose my temper or my cool now. It would be disastrous.

Gods must be having a bad day; or maybe the Elders are. Yeah, that's it. The Elders are having a bad day, that's why they've gone and abandoned me to my fate with my family.

"Wyatt, did you leave the drill in the yard or in the shed when I asked you to put it away – Oh. Hi everyone." Uncle Henry is holding a screwdriver and hammer which looks completely at odds with his casual suit and tie. "Why are we all standing around?"

Aunt Paige then turns up, with daughter Suzanne, the current baby of the family at eighteen months in her arms, and her daughter Imogene, three, clutching her pant leg. The twins, James and Thomas are right behind their big sister, Elizabetha (Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Coop's children) who is holding a textbook and gesturing wildly to Mom and Dad.

"But Uncle Leo! It's right here in the book – Oh sorry, Aunt Paige." Elizabetha says as she walks right into Aunt Paige before noticing me.

Fuck the bad day theory; the Gods and the Elders are sat up there on high, pissing themselves with laughter at my fate. My life must be like one long soap opera to them.

Dad's looking at me, like he can't decide whether to ignore me, or stab me with the screwdriver Uncle Henry is holding. Mom looks about the same, except she'd probably bludgeon me with the textbook that my dear cousin is carrying. Aunt Paige is looking at me with furrowed brows and Aunt Phoebe looks like she does when she's trying to get an empathic reading off of me. Ha, good luck with that. I drank the blocking potion to that when I was thirteen; and now she won't get a damn thing out of me. Both Uncle Coop and Uncle Henry are looking at me like I've just sprouted rabbit ears or something, and as for my cousins...Well, they look like gargoyles and match my sisters really rather well. I'm trying to restrain the urge to dive back into the kitchen, race out the door and up the trellis to Wyatt's room.

"Hiya, Chris!" Imogene waves at me from her place beside my currently red-headed aunt. I'm surprised that she remembers me to be honest. Must be all those hours when she would orb into my room when I was reading when she was about...two. They stopped after a couple of months when she got the hang of the power, but I must have made a bit of an impression on her for her to remember me like that.

"Hey, Immi." I smile briefly at her and I can see Dad's expression morph for an instant. He looks like he does when he's going to lay the law on my head twice as hard as he would do to any other member of the family.

"Christopher." Mom's talking to me, and I look at her. She looks smart, wearing a trouser suit and her brown hair is braided and looped around the back of her head. She must have a meeting with some of her people; as the boss of P3 and a cool new restaurant, she has a lot of meetings to go to.

"Yes." I don't add the 'mom' part on and she notices right away. Her eyebrow twitches and her fingers flick out in a movement I recognise. I've seen the same movement, when coupled with the proper follow-through, explode a hundred demons at once. Well, screw it all. I made her angry.

"Your father and I...have made a decision."

"Really?" I sound utterly bored with the whole thing. Mom grinds her teeth a bit and I feel like smiling a bit – I've put her on edge now. You see, as far as she can, she'll try to keep me under her thumb – same with Dad – but as long as I don't react, she gets pissy. I kind of enjoy it but you know, I don't want to push it too far.

"Yes. We have decided that we are not knocking through from the girls room." Well, that's a surprise. What with there being so many females in this house, and only having eight bedrooms, excluding my little closet room; we have to be creative with sleeping arrangements. Mom and Dad, Uncle Coop and Aunt Phoebe, Aunt Paige and Uncle Henry have their own rooms on the second floor and Wyatt is on his own on the third floor. I have my little cubby hole space; or did or may have back again dependant on the outcome of this conversation, on the third floor. Melinda, Annabelle, Cassandra and Elizabetha all share a room on the third floor. James and Thomas share the smallest room on third floor, barring my room and Imogene and Suzanne have the nursery on the second floor. I was evicted out of there when I was three right after Melinda was brought home and stuck in my little cubby room. Not that I mind.

My room is tiny. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. It's tiny. It's barely six foot long and it's only five feet across. I don't even have a window, only a little vent in the top of my wall leading onto Wyatt's balcony. I'm pretty sure this room used to be a closet; because I can hear Wyatt's music sometimes through the wall we share, which isn't as thick as the others. I don't have a heater or anything either, but I don't mind. Because it's only a little room, it's easy to heat with just body heat and when it gets really cold I just pile on a blanket onto of my duvet. I sleep curled up on my bed now because it's way too short. I'm pretty short at five eight but my bed is a child's bed. It's no more than about five foot more likely four foot ten. And I'm eight inches too tall for it so I sleep all curled up like a cat. I don't mind. You stay warm that way.

In the summer, then it's hellish in that room, though. It boils all night and day and I can't leave the door open like I want to. Mom complained last time I did that; said it wasn't the right thing to do, to leave your door open like that when everyone can see into the room. She said it's not nice because people are coming out of the two bathrooms on this level; and they might see into my room and that's not proper. Bullshit. Wyatt and my cousins leave their doors open all the time and she says nothing to them. She said it to me, because if I keep my door shut, I don't have to be seen. I have my old lamp to read by but with the door shut, the heat turns oppressive and thick. It feels like I'm suffocating sometimes when it's really hot and last year during the heat wave...I swore I was getting heat stroke, and Mom just ignored me. She left me to suffer in that room once, I know she did. She locked the door and then took the whole family to a festival thing over in Hollywood. She left me there in that room for three days, and I know she left me there like that because she left a chemical toilet mini-camping thing that I recognised from the camping trip that happened when I was twelve and I didn't go but I did help pack up the cars before I left to stay at Grandpa's and she left two bottles of water and a packet of sandwiches. And before you ask, "why didn't you orb out", she was going through her whole "No Personal Gain, EVER!" phase again and she actually bound my powers for six months. Left me totally defenceless when it came to demons but Mom's not really logically thinking when it comes to me.

My room is right above the stairs; literally. I have to step up about a foot and a half to get into the room right off the stairwell. It's because it's not meant to be a room. And you can see where there used to be a door, the outline where the new plaster went. It's in the wall which I share with Wyatt, supporting my theory that room was originally a closet. The walls are pale grey unpainted and the bare wood floor is pretty much grey as well. Once a month, I take a weekend when they're out and sling a hoover around the room. I keep it tidy because, to be honest, I ain't got a whole lot to mess it up with.

Mom's talking again. Better pay attention, or I might miss a key moment to get my room back.

"We've been convinced by Wyatt, that he can't share with you..." Excellent, my own brother is turning on me. Well, the whole family, why not him.... "He claims it's not fair on you." Wait...back-up there.... "Instead, we're going to change the door to go through Wyatt's room." Oh fucking brilliant. What next? He's gonna lock me in?

"Why can't I just leave my door in the same place?"

"Because, Christopher, we're plastering up the wall and we're going to put a display cabinet on that wall instead. Your sisters and cousin will manage if we change the display case down here for the one in their room. It will free up some space for us as well."

"Piper, why can't Chris just share with Wyatt?" Uncle Henry looks at me with confusion. "They're brothers...I mean, I shared with mine when I was Chris's age."

"Because it's not right. Wyatt has friends staying over too often now; and Chris would be in the way..." Congratulations, Mom. World's lamest excuse.

"Oh right." Uncle Henry's expression says he ain't buying it but Mom is too quick.

"Right, let's have some breakfast!" She claps her hands and the whole family bar me and Wyatt leaps into action. They pull out their chairs, strap small children into high chairs or bibs and Mom waves at me to carry on bringing in the food while she collars Wyatt into talking with Dad. I roll my eyes. I know when I'm not wanted. Known it since I was born after all...

I go into the kitchen, stare at the piles of food and wonder why I bothered coming down this morning. I feel like crap, I've been viewed by my entire family as a freak and been told that I'm now going to have to go through my brother's bedroom in order to access my own room. Well, small mercies. At least I don't actually have to share with anyone – like Thomas and James – that would just kill me completely. It's not exactly a thrilling scenario; but it could be worse. After all, I still have access to an en-suite and if Wyatt's going to be next door, I won't have to worry about demon attacks. I sigh, pick up two pitchers and carry them into the dining room.

Life's really bad right now, I think. As I finish carrying in the last of the food, I realise that the only seat left is right on the end of the table. It's opposite Wyatt but everyone avoids that seat like the plague. It's right up against leaves which unfold to make the table bigger. You're slap in front of the wood, which means you can't sit facing the front because you have no where to put your legs. On top of that, I have the shitty seat, the one that's wobbly and hard backed and doesn't have a cushion. It makes sitting down an adventure because after ten minutes your backside is as numb as if you stuck it in a bowl of ice.

Great.

I sit down, and then notice most of the food is gone and my cousins are all chatting and telling each other what they have today while they did into plates piled high and the adults are talking to each other while sipping coffee and eating from plates stacked with food. Wyatt is still eating his pancakes. The last of the pancakes, I realise. I sigh. I can't be bothered with this, this morning of all mornings. I reach out for the last two sausages only to be thwarted by Dad who takes them from under my hand, without so much as a sorry and shares them out between James and Thomas. I just think how petty of him, and just reach for a bowl of fruit. Except Mom's hand is there, and she's picked up the bowl and moved it up towards her end of the table and she's now sharing it out amongst my sisters. I try again, this time for eggs, and this time it's Dad again and he's just scraped the last of them onto his plate.

I know when to take a hint.

I push my plate away from me, and wrap my hands around my torso. I'm so hungry now. I usually eat breakfast so lunch is okay when I just have an apple or two. Dinner is a bit hit and miss sometimes but I get by. But, yesterday and the day before, I didn't get up early enough to have breakfast, and because I wasn't in the kitchen before Mom, I didn't get to grab lunch either. And Dad was fixing the garbage disposal over both nights, so I've missed dinner as well. I'm so hungry; no wonder I feel like shit. My last meal was lunch three days ago and it was just a couple of apples. My books taught me something though; fill up on water when you can. If you have something in your belly, then the hunger pangs don't hurt as much. But after the best part of sixty hours without food, no amount of water is going to stop these pangs. I draw my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around them and consider just summoning some food to myself when I hear Mom's voice talking to Wyatt and I know if she caught me using my powers for personal gain, hell, for survival if it didn't involve evil of some kind, she'd castrate me. I'm so hungry and so thirsty...I want to drink the pitcher in front of me dry but I daren't. It's not worth the risk.

Wyatt's looking at me with concern in his eyes. He then commits a move that will forever change my outlook on him. He hands me his last pancake. Suddenly, the entire table is staring at me and I'm just...trying to hide beneath the table sounds good right now.

"Wyatt, honey...Why are you giving him your pancake? Do you not like it?" Mom's holding Dad's hand. She sounds hurt, "I thought you loved my pancakes..."

"I do. But Chrissy needs to eat."

"But he can get it for himself, can't he?"

"Just drop it, Mom..." Wyatt places the pancake on my plate. "Eat it, Chrissy."

"Wyatt, take your pancake back and if you don't want it put it in the garbage disposal." Dad's voice is like steel, hard and cold.

"Chris, eat the damn pancake." Wyatt is staring at me with dark eyes. It's actually kind of scary.

"Wyatt, I am telling you, eat the pancake or put it in the garbage disposal. Do not give it to him."

"Chris, eat it."

"Wyatt, I won't tell you again." Mom is looking real angry now, and I don't want to cop it from her. I don't know what to do. Half of me is dying of hunger and just desperate to eat the pancake, but the other half of me knows that if I do, I ain't going to be seeing the light of day for many many days to come.

Uncle Henry is look back and forth from Mom and Dad, and Wyatt and me, like he can't understand. "Piper, Leo...It's just a pancake...It's not a big deal..."

"I told you, Wyatt...I don't want to say it again. Either eat it, or put it in the bin. Do not give it to him."

And that just really annoys me. I'm not a dog, my eating isn't a matter of it being wrong to eat at the table. I have the right to eat, goddamnit and I'll eat when I want to! I want to eat and therefore I will. I have as much right to as any other member of the family.

In three quick bites, I eat the pancake.

And the family is now divided. Wyatt looks pleased, and darkly satisfied. Mom and Dad, however, look dark with anger and are seriously annoyed. Uncle Henry looks completely divided between worry and distaste; my cousins and sisters are the same. My aunts are completely ignoring us, choosing to look at their plates like small children. I look at my slightly oily tips of fingers and I consider what I have just done. Open defiance.

It could quite possibly kill me.

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_**And there you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen. **_

_**What do you think?**_


	6. Chapter 6

**So, a short one this time, but it's going to start ramping up after this. I have written much more – I was rather pleased with myself last night back I managed to successfully get all the way up to 22,222 words. I felt rather like I had achieved something significant myself, even if I did have a numb arse by the end of it and felt like I was welded onto my desk chair. **

**I'll post another one tomorrow or maybe even tonight, so we'll get through all the chapters I have saved up for you. And thank you all for reviewing, I'll comment again when I post the new chapter on the progress made!**

**Review replies are on the bottom.**

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**When a Child is Born**

**Chapter Six**

_In three quick bites, I eat the pancake. _

_And the family is now divided. Wyatt looks pleased, and darkly satisfied. Mom and Dad, however, look dark with anger and are seriously annoyed. Uncle Henry looks completely divided between worry and distaste; my cousins and sisters are the same. My aunts are completely ignoring us, choosing to look at their plates like small children. I look at my slightly oily tips of fingers and I consider what I have just done. Open defiance. _

_It could quite possibly kill me. _

Mom and Dad stand up, share an impossibly long look and then Mom says, "Christopher. Come with me."

Dad says, "Wyatt, come with me."

I feel the fear in my belly, rise to my throat. Mom sounds like she does when she's going to kill a whole load of demons with her bare hands. Dad sounds the same, with his lightning hands. I swallow and I can feel the floor begin to pitch and dip. The fear is killing me. Sometimes, Mom gets this expression – a dark expression on her face. I don't know how to describe it – it's just... _dark._ Not quite evil but... I never see it on her face when she looks at anyone else, only at me. I don't know what I've done to deserve it – I haven't killed anyone close, I haven't cost her a lot of money... I just don't know why she hates me, why Dad can't stand to look me in the eye. Sometimes, I wonder if I was actually born into this family, or whether I was just dropped here one night by some young runaway witch.

I follow Mom out of the dining room, up the stairs to the first floor. She gets a box out of her room, while I stand outside, and then she's moving out to the next set of stairs and I can feel her anger radiating off of her. I'm really frightened now, she seems angrier than I've ever seen her. She might really hurt me. She stands outside my door, and pushes it open.

"Get in." she tells me, her voice like broken glass through my skin.

As I climb the stairs to stand on the same one she's on, I feel the heat in the room. It's dark and oppressive, and the heat feels like it will burn me. And I'm not even in the room yet, just standing outside.

"Get in, now." Mom wrenches my arm forward and I climb inside. It's empty inside the room, nothing but four walls, a floor and a ceiling. It's dark in there and I have never felt like more of a criminal than now; it feels like she's putting into a cell. A cage. One knee on the floor of my bedroom, one foot on the stairs and Mom is looking more and more grim. I clamber inside, feeling more and more frightened. She shoves the box at me and I open it when she directs me to. It's the chemical toilet and suddenly I can feel the blood pounding in my ears, the nerves in my hands freeze and my legs feel like jelly.

She slams the door shut, and before I can react I can hear the lock click with a sense of finality.

"NO!" I shout, leap at the door, and bang my hands on it. "No! Let me out! Don't lock me in here, Mom! Please don't!"

"You'll stay in there until you can stop being defiant of me and your father. And you can stop...doing whatever you're doing to Wyatt. He's the Twice Blessed child you know."

Yeah, thanks Mom. Like I need more reason to feel inferior to my brother. But she's talking again.

"_**Spirit ones; his powers let me bind**_

_**With the Power of Three intertwined, **_

_**Strip them from his control, I ask of thee, **_

_**In the name of the Power of Three." **_

I can feel my powers being shifted and shut into a part of me that I can't reach. I try to Orb, or to twitch the door open and nothing happens. She's taken my powers! Again! I swear, she gets a kick from leaving me defenceless. Demons pop in and out of this house like no tomorrow. I need something to defend myself with, though. I have just the thing, if mom won't let me out. I hope she does though. I hate being locked in, I feel so helpless and open to an attack.

"Please, let me out, Mom!" I'm kneeling on the floor, my hands on the door, and my head hanging. "I swear, I'm not doing anything to Wyatt, Mom! I swear, I'm not doing anything to him!"

"I don't believe you." Mom's voice is so final. "I don't believe you. You are just trying to take him away from us. The future Chris, he died saving Wyatt. You're trying to harm him."

"I'm not, Mom!" I'm howling now, begging to be let out. I bang on the door, slamming my hands onto the wood, ignoring the stinging pain. The heat is pressing down on me, the sweat is seeping out of me fast. Too fast. I'll die of dehydration if she doesn't let me out soon. "Please, mommy, let me out!" I don't care how childish I sound, I want out, out out now. I want out now, please God.

"I'm doing this for Wyatt's sake. If I hear another word from you, I'll take your voice with a spell."

"Mom! Please! I wouldn't do anything to Wyatt!" I ignore her threat, magic wouldn't let her do that to me, would it? It's not _right_. "Mom, please! Don't lock me in here!"

"Christopher, I am warning you! Not one more word!"

"No, Mom, please! Let me out, please Mom! I'LL DIE IN HERE, _PLEASE _DON'T LOCK ME IN HERE!" I'm practically screaming now, I don't want to be locked in her. I'll die, I can feel it. The heat, the darkness, pressing on me. On my heart, my _hope. "_Don't, please, Mom! Let me out!"

Mom's chanting and I can feel the magic again, rippling over my skin and across my face. It feels painful.

"_**Powers that be, **_

_**Hear my plea, **_

_**To protect my son, **_

_**Mute this one!"**_

Mom's chant finishes and suddenly, my voice is gone. I can't speak! I try to inhale and make some kind of noise but the air won't go into my lungs! I feel myself dying, my lungs screaming for air and my sight lost to the darkness. I try to just inhale and it works. I can breathe again! Apparently, as long as I don't try to make a noise, I'll be fine.

"You're going to be in there for as long as I deem it right. At the very least it will be a week. I might make it your whole holiday. I suggest you try not to make noise though, and you try not to move. I'll drop some water in when I come home from work." With that, I can hear Mom's shoes clomping down the stairs.

I try to pound on the door, but it tires me out too quickly, and no-one answers. I can't breathe now, because I'm crying and I want to scream and all I can do is breathe quietly and feel the tears running down my face. With one foot, I shove the chemical toilet to one corner. I don't want to even touch it, but if I break it, then I'm screwed. Mom could leave me in here for a week, maybe more. I can't hold on that long, even if I want to. I take off my t-shirt and my jeans. It's hot in here, no need to make it any hotter. Bundling them up into a ball, I lie on the floor, and try to curl up with my head close to the door, so I can get even the smallest bit of cool air but not be so close that if someone swings open the door, I'll be hit in the face. I don't bother to wipe away my tears – it's just too much effort. I'm so hungry and thirsty, and hot and itchy even though I'm wearing just boxers but I can't dwell on that now. I'm in here for as long as I have to be, and if I try to do anything, she'll kill me. Or leave me in here longer than I can bear it possibly. I feel like nothing on earth will help me now – even my family doesn't want me. That's a fantastic thing you know, to know that not one member of your family would worry if you went missing for a week, a month, a year.

I hate my family so much right now. Well, maybe not Wyatt – who knows, maybe Dad is finally taking the strap to him like he so often did to me in my younger years. Before I learnt to stay out of everyone's way. Before I learnt that sometimes, parents don't love you the way they're supposed to.

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_****_And that is your lot, I'm afraid, until I can find the manuscript again. Should be up sometime tomorrow._**

**_And that is me done and dusted and back to the drawing board for the next eleven thousand, one hundred and eleven words._**

**Now for something slightly more interesting, review replies. Unfortunately, I'll only be replying to the last two chapters reviews - if you have a question you previously posted and still want answered please sent it again in another review - then I'll know exactly who and what needs answering!**

_xxxxTwilight For Everxxxx - That was one of two planned updates according to my list and then there will the other tomorrow. Thanks for reviewing and the compliment! And yes, they were acting really childishly, but you can be surprised how childish some adults can act when they're being openly defied. _

_Shinigami-chan - Your wish is my command. Another update due tomorrow morning!_

_Kuhekabir - Not discontinued, but just... a muse with ADHD and a dislike for staying on one story too long. It should be back on a semi-regular update for the next few months. At least until the summer. I've got 25 thousand odd words somewhere, but it's more about having the time and energy to do it more than anything else. Thanks for your support though!_

_jka1 - Hmm, really? Your favourite one? Meh, I'm not fantastically in love with this one - though it could be because I've had to tweak so many things about this story that I can't really fall in love with any of it anymore. Next update, due tomorrow. _

_Kyoshiro-Crimson-King - First of all, can I just say that I love your username. Adnd secondly, tomorrow will be another update day, hopefully before work so you can rest easy in knowing that there will be more to read and enjoy. _

_Sarah - Wonderful, I made someone happy! It's positive - no sarcasm intended... Thanks for the encouragement - some days you just really don't feel like writing, do you? Thanks for reviewing!_

_LittleBloodyJ - Thanks for the compliment - this is just me, bumbling along in my own sad little way~ Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_Ella - Well, there was part one of a chapter and part two is coming tomorrow morning, if I wake up in time! Thanks for the review!_

_Kitkatthevampirelover - For a moment there, your review made me think I'd double posted! Phew, that was a relief... When I have the time for such a polite review, most certainly. You shall have an update tomorrow! _

_Kaylen Cooper - Yes, an update was just spotted. It no longer lurked in the depths of the pendrive, instead, it burst onto the site with a loud bang and presented itself for reviewers around the globe. Let's follow it and see it lead to another one! (I think it should, tomorrow morning!)_

_skyinthenightslove - Hmm, the story here is, that it's unfolding as it goes - I'm hopefully going to bring it back around full circle but unfortuately that's only as long as my muse agrees :/ She can be a bit tempermental at times. I don't think a spell is the problem here, and yep they do just ignore him. I can tell you, it is actually quite easy to ignore someone living in the same house as you for years - me and my brother come to mind. As for accepting Chris... there's a lot of pain and heartache involved here and as for recreating his childhood - no. No, I don't think his childhood in any of the many Charmed Universes that we see on the show was as bad as this so, no I don't think they trying to recreate it. And no, Piper will not be dying in this story - the future has changed and become different and that is now no longer a possibility. Aside from the fact, we have actually established that this is the future that the Older!Chris came back to create, not the one he knew. _

_Wyatt isn't the Source of All Evil yet - theoretically, he's not even a demon or half demon - he's entirely Good, in that he could, quite potentially, become an Elder right now and nobody would bat an eyelid. And Wyatt is doing something to Chris to make him dependent on him, but not outright submissive is pretty much correct, and as for Chris being small - when you don't eat right, you don't grow to meet your full potential - the Older Chris from the future was what? Almost six feet tall? Now you take a child from parents who are of average height, add in malnutrition from starvation, lack of fitness and access to medical care and you are almost certainly not going to get a giant. Chris is small because his circumstances make him so. I think you're pretty dead on though, with the whole getting Chris comfortable with touches and doing what Wyatt wants. He wrapped his arm around Chris because that's what you do when you dominant somebody physically - not like a playful loving touch, I'm talking the kind of 'I own your body and can do what I like to it' touch. As for making him come down for breakfast, it's because Wyatt wanted him down there. Simple. And he got rid of Chris's bed because ****** oh sorry, that's spoilery! I can't tell you yet, sorry! As for the giving gifts, associating Wyatt with good things and others, they're all spoilers too, so I'm afraid not... (I'm trying not to give too much away!) So yes, in short form - Poor Chris, indeed!_

_I've not read that book yet, but I think I might see if I can find it. You have me intrigued. Henry does realise something is wrong but nothing too major yet, and no Melinda nor her siblings/the younger generations will not help Chris out here. This is Chris against the whole family and Wyatt floating in between friend and unknown. Imogene is three years old, and at three you don't often notice anything out of the ordinary unless it's to do directly with yourself. So no, she won't notice I'm afraid. Again, the Aunt's won't help at all here, it's that whole delicate situation between do we don't we interfere. No job for Chris - he's only fourteen and he lives in the city - not many jobs will hire him. And as for the grandpa deal, I'll address it later, promise! Wyatt knows something of Chris's eating habits, enough to know it's unlikely Chris will have eaten. Poor, poor Chris. _

_Seraphalexiel - I have no idea if I spelled your name right, but it's an awesome name none the less! All round is positive feed back and yes, the power of disappearing a needed object is intense. The shower scene was disturbing, and I wanted to give Chris an inkling of something 'wrong' here. I hope that came across. Yes, Wyatt does have a lot of control, so a lot of things that will happen could be seen as being contructed or orchestrated by Wyatt... Thanks for the review!_

_phil - Your wait is over, and you shall only have to endure tomorrow to make sure you get another one! Thanks for reviewing!_

_Rin'negan Naruto - Yeah some great family, he's got going there, hasn't he? '._

_Secret Thoughts - You will be surprised how powerful that last line really will be in a few chapters... and how true..._

_ovoriel - Finally? Pfft, it was only like... fifteen months or something in between updates...or something.... I think... And yeah, there will be a reason for Piper and Leo's attitudes and for the reason why nobody's noticed anything yet. Chris doesn't move to Victor's... I'll address that in the next chapter. _

_Good Wtich - More is coming up, hold your horses. Wyatt's evil plot won't kick off for another couple of chapters but I'm getting there. There are hints of it all the way along though so hopefully that will satisfy you!_

_Rhi-la - Amazing is high praise, indeed, and ummm...I'm sorry for making you cry? I'm glad you feel bad for him, sympathising with the characters is the sign that a writer has done her job well!_

_TSgirl - I'm trying my best, thanks for reviewing!_

_k - Nice short name there, mate~! :P More is coming soon!_

**And that is all of them. I will see you tomorrow since it is about quarter midnight and I have to be up at six tomorrow. Woe is me...See you then then!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Ergh… I don't have an excuse other than pure forgetfulness (Note to self: make sure you bring ALL your memory sticks home during the holidays). Umm… to make it up to you for the delay and the shortness of this chapter, there is another one overleaf, so yeah. **

**Enjoy.**

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**When a Child is Born**

**Chapter Seven**

I'm hot. So hot. And the heat is thickening by the second. I don't have a watch but I think I can hear Wyatt's TV on, and it's the news. It's the third time I've heard it so it must be the six o'clock news. I need water so bad now, I'm absolutely desperate. So thirsty, so hungry...It's horrible. I haven't used the toilet all day, but if this keeps up much longer I swear I'll need to. God, it feels awful, so hot and dark. I hate this. I hate it so much.

The headache that started this morning when I was locked in here has only built and gotten worse. I feel like someone's lit a fire inside my brain, it hurts so bad. I've cried so many tears in here, my face feels sore and the skin around my eyes is raw and probably red.

I did thwart Mom in one way though. When I emptied my room, I didn't remember my little cubby behind the skirting board. It's tiny, but inside I managed to fit in three crystals. No bigger than about the size of a shot glass, all of them, and they're not the best quality but Mom would have noticed if the good ones went missing from the family collection in the Attic but there's so many, nobody missed these. It's hardly a perfect defence against the demons that invade this place, but there's always hope that someone'll come and find me before I die if I do come face to face with a demon. At least, I'm protected at least a little bit against them. The crystals form a force field around where I sit, in a little triangle. It's small, I have to curl up, but they're also hidden from anyone who might want to take them from me.

Mom doesn't like it if you get one up on her – she never has. I think this would _definitely_ count as one up on her. I put one behind the door, so it'll not be seen if someone comes in, and the other two are hidden in the darkest shadows of the corners of my room. If you see them, you're either looking for them, or related to an owl...though given some of the people I've met, that _might_ not be so far off.

I want out. I want to die. I want to live but not in here. This must be what it's like to be tortured.

I can hear shoes coming up the stairs. I wonder faintly who it is. Oh, they've stopped outside my room. The lock clicks – must be mom or dad.

It's mom. She throws in a bottle of water at me. "Drink."

I do. Greedily, I suck the water down. I'm dehydrated to the point of nearly fainting, and the water will replenish me. It's nice and cool, but not cold which would make me sick. I finish the bottle and she throws another onto the floor inside my room. "That's for tomorrow. You drink it all tonight, you go without."

She stares at me, and I stare back. I don't know what she wants from me. I just relish in the cooler air, coming in from outside my room. It's lovely, like hands running all over me. I have never had such appreciation for cool air. I swear I'll never take it for granted again.

"Don't you have something to say?" She asks me pointedly.

I'm confused. What am I supposed to say?

"When someone gives you something it is common place to say thank you." She tells me in a tone she'd usually reserve for dealing with my youngest cousins, like I'm thick or something. It's not exactly something you would say to someone who has basically tortured you by locking you in a room without food, water or proper sanitation in soaring heat with not enough air.

I go to say it and I choke. I can't breathe! The air is stuck in my throat and I can feel myself turning faint. I concentrate on just breathing and the air goes into my lungs again. As I feel the blackness retreat from my brain and see it go from the edges of my sight, I see her face. It has a faint smirk on it. She knew that I would fail. She set me up for it! Her hand is in front of me, demanding without words the bottle back.

I hold onto it, a pleading look on my face. It's my only source of sustenance, and she wants to take it away.

"Would you like me to take your sight as well?" She says, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

I can feel the blood drain from my face; and I snarl wordlessly. _I hate her_. She's threatening to take everything from me. And I know she'll do it, which is even worse. If she could take a defenceless person's powers and their voice, she could take their sight without even thinking about it. I place in her hands, the only thing I have ever wanted enough to want to kill for; water.

"Not very gracious, are you Christopher Perry? I could have left you without even the first bottle..." Her expression is the same pleasant expression she wears around the others. I hate her. I hate her so much, I hate her so fucking much!

I hand over the bottle, the only thing I have left in this godforsaken room. She smiles, the same smile I've seen pull out time and time again on family and friends and customers – the one that says, "I'm doing this for your own good."

"Next time, _you_ will be more gracious, or_ you'll go without_!" She slams my door shut and locks it again.

_Bitch. _

I hate this.

I hate that I cannot stop this. I hate that she chooses to lock me in essentially a prison cell without food, water or light or air for hours at a time, while she and the rest of my family swan around doing what they like. I hate that they don't care enough for their own flesh and blood to help them. I hate that my dad thinks I'm a failure and is never around for me. Always for everyone else, not for me. I hate that my mom is the same, that it's always about someone else – never me. I hate that this room is small, and boiling hot, and it's killing me slowly.

Most of all, I hate myself for being so weak.

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**(PTO for next chapter and for review replies)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Well, here's your extra chapter that I promised you, a scant few minutes after the last one was posted. Hope this kind of makes up for the long hiatus... I won't know when the next one is up. This one is short, and most of those that will follow will be the same – long chapters are for the other side, after he gets out. **

**Review replies downstairs, as always. **

**NOTE: If you have a question about abuse, _Jessie (1&2)'s_ review reply will help to explain a lot, and if you've got some questions about the family then _Serephalexiel's_ review reply will help towards that respect. Anything else, feel free to question me in a review or PM!**

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**When a Child is Born**

**Chapter Eight**

I've been in here a week. Maybe a bit longer, but certainly no less. I don't think I can survive much longer. Mom is dropping water in every day but nowhere near enough and she's making me beg for it, even though I can't speak. I've passed once or twice from trying to speak through the spell – I wake up with the door locked and the water on the floor beside me. I'm bathed in sweat, the heat is causes me to develop sore patches on my back, my sides, my neck and between my thighs and my knees. I'm always dripping in it, and the salt in the sweat causes the patches to become red and raw and incredibly painful. Torture is never pretty, even if they glamorise it in movies – it's incredibly painful, creates the kind of wounds that cripples and leaves you feeling less and less like resisting. God, there is nothing on earth that feels as awful as a sweat chamber. And that's exactly what my room has been turned into.

I try to breath and my lungs burn and quake inside my chest as the burning hot air rushes in. I feel like absolute shit, but I can keep going. Strength and courage in the face of adversity and all that shit.

Mom's been dropping water in maybe eight, nine times. Surely it's not more than twelve times, I'm sure of that. I can keep going, I have to. Strength of will is one of the most important things in surviving, I've learnt over the years. You don't have to hold out forever, just longer than the other side do. I can do that. I can.

I think.

I lean my back on the wall, and try to go back to sleep. My back is aching after sleeping on the floor for days, and my spine is just bone on the floor which is one of the most painful feelings in the world. I shift, but stop upon hearing my spine crunch on the floor. Ergh, it feels so wrong. And painful, but just wrong... No mattress, no padding, just bare skin on the hard wood floor. What would I give for a mattress now? Probably everything, but I'll never find out. Mom won't let me have one of those...

The room smells rank – the smell of sweat and fear intermingling with the smell of the chemical toilet that reeks like a public toilet pervading my senses every time I breathe in.

My eyes open and shut, unseeing in the darkness. Not that I'd see much anyway. Mom took my sight like she swore she would. You know, even though I can see about the same amount as I could when I had my sight, it's really unnerving not having the ability to see. I keep thinking someone's looking at me, or there's something in the room because I can't see to check. It's hard to stop myself screaming, wailing, shouting making some sound. But I can't. I'll suffocate myself in an attempt to stop myself suffocating from the silence. The irony is just so _fucking wrong_ I could almost laugh about it. Almost, but not quite.

I can't help wanting to make noise – anything, just to relieve the monotony.

I've tried hammering on the walls, pounding on the floor, hell, I've tried to go for the _ceiling _once or twice in my blind panic to get out of here. Nothing works. It's like I'm in a black spot – I can faintly hear the outside world, but they have no idea I'm even here. I don't know why, I don't know how Mom's done this – but I do know why I still try to make noise, to let someone know I'm here, still alive. Still _defiant_.

Because even my aunts and uncles, even my brothers and sisters, cousins and grandpa wouldn't leave me to rot in here, I know they wouldn't. I _have_ to believe that, because it's all that's keeping my faith in them right now.

I wonder, sometimes, when I'm in a morbid mood, whether I'll get out here alive. Dad can orb and mom can explode stuff – it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for him to dump me in the middle of the underworld – or into the middle of a volcano or something or her to explode my body and say I was a demon. I shouldn't think anyone would notice for _at least_ six months.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling _really_ morbid, I wonder what my funeral would be like – Wyatt would come, I think… But other than that, I don't know. Mom and Dad would rather leave my body to rot somewhere but I think that Wyatt would at least get me a cardboard coffin – they're free from the city council, I know. When I was nine, I checked online. I wouldn't even get a headstone – they're expensive and I wouldn't think anyone would pay for one in my family. I don't know. Maybe I'd be cremated – I hear it's popular for reducing space in the cemeteries, and the council will do it for ten dollars if the person has no relatives or they cannot afford a burial… I'd like to have my ashes scattered on the park beneath the Golden Gate Bridge – it's the only place I've known of beauty… I'd like that. It would be a nice to place haunt, if I come back as a Ghost, because it's so peaceful.

Sometimes I wonder if someone would ever put flowers on my gravestone or at a memorial if I had one.

Mom and Dad and the rest of the Aunts and Uncles take my siblings to lay flowers at Aunt Prue's and at Grams' graves as well as at Nana's. I sometimes lay a few flowers on there as well, if I can scrounge up enough money from spare change I find on the street and lying around the house to take the bus – it's a hour and a half's walk for me on foot but a three dollar thirty minute bus ride – I look at the markers and the massive bunches of flowers, all expensive imported ones like Saffron and lilies and roses and irises, and my offerings of ten daffodils looks very pathetic.

I have no idea what time it is – for all I know it could be the middle of the night, or the crack of dawn. I'm so hungry. So thirsty. So hot. So tired. So...something way below feeling like an animal in a cage.

I curl up in the corner – it's still hot in here, but the temperature isn't quite as high as it usually is – maybe it _is_ the early morning. I wrap my arms around my waist, and shiver and quake – I feel hot and cold at the same time, something I can't understand. Complete contradiction but maybe it's something to do with me being well… not so well. I'm so so hungry – my stomach is begging for food and water – I know it takes over sixty days to starve to death but it's a horrific way to die based on all the stories I've read, the autobiographies and the survivors tales in my books. I know it's always a painful death. I'd really rather not, thanks… I feel stabbing pains in my chest and stomach and I can barely crawl to and from the toilet – mom's been chucking in a toilet roll once or twice – I can't remember – but it still reeks like a bar toilet at chucking out time, and I feel like an animal, kneeling over a toilet to piss.

I want out.

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**First of all, review replies. **

**NOTE: If you have a question about abuse, _Jessie (1&2)'s_ review reply will help to explain a lot, and if you've got some questions about the family then _Serephalexiel's_ review reply will help towards that respect. Anything else, feel free to question me in a review or PM!**

**_anxious reader – _**_I'm sorry you had to wait so long – at least this time you got a double whammy? *can think of nothing else to apologise with other than repeating sorry over and over again*…. Thanks for the 'One of the best charmed stories I've ever read' compliment – it really made my day. Don't worry. 27 thousand words tells me I'm keeping writing this story._

**_PapiEsteven_**** – **_First of all, way to go on the awesome name, and second of all, thanks ever so on the review. Hope you enjoyed what that was up there and the previous chapters. _

**_FalloutAngel –_**_ Next chapter is in the works, so that's that I'm afraid, and Wyatt… Well, I wouldn't say pissed but he's… weird. _

**_why do you cry bloody tears – _**_Yep, poor Chris. He'll get over it. Later. Much later. Like ten chapters later. I think. Maybe._

**_envy1988- _**_Thanks for the review – can't wait for another? Leave me another week and you'll have it. (Given my past updating history, that could be a few months…I'll try not to let it get that far though)_

**_Jooheika – _**_Okay, I really love your name as well. It's awesome~. Intensity is really what I hope to get out of these next few chapters. What Chris got from Piper was fullblown, ANTI-CHRIS sentiments, hence the poor treatment. As for why – well that'll come later. Yeah. I frequently find moments even in my own story when I want to cry. _

**_KuroDemon – _**_Depressing is something I do oddly, but apparently well. Thank you for your review! You'll find out 'why's his family being such bitches' later on. Can't say much more than that. On your review of chapter five, you were the one who made me update. Congratulations! _

**_I-Love-Trunks1 – _**_Wyatt's still there – but he won't come into play for a while, and yeah. He is only two years older than Chris but you know. Swings and roundabouts with the age thing. Thank you for reviewing. _

**_CharmedSakuke101 – _**_Who said short and sweet didn't mean anything? Thanks for reviewing!_

**_dvfan_**_ – Argh, don't explode! I need my reviewers alive and well, thank you very much. The rest of the family? Meh, there's lots of things going on. I'll let my chapters speak for me before saying anything. _

**_Jen _**_– Thanks for the review and I will try to get myself back onto a posting schedule of some sorts. _

**_peruser – _**_Your review on Chapter 6 made me laugh, just a little bit~ Your review on chapter now, will be dealt with now – Well, they have more than one kid – Melinda, Annabelle and Cassandra, but yeah. Chris is a lot outside that precious circle of acceptance and family. Wyatt is taking advantage, exactly as you suggest, and your reasoning about Chris following Wyatt's lead is, on the whole, correct as one of the reasons Wyatt is doing this. As for the rest of the family – at the moment Henry is the only one sensing a disturbance in the 'force' as it was. As for whether Phoebe would notice – what about if she was under it as well? How would that change your view on the situation? Tell me in your next review If you want._

**_history – _**_it'll become clearer later as to why Chris's parents treat him the way they do. And I'm afraid I can't say much more than that… Enjoy the rest of your day though!_

**_Wolf Beil – _**_Nope, not discontinued. Just an extremely stroppy muse who won't pay any attention where I WANT HER TO. Sorry. We're currently engaged in negotiations, so something should happen soon. What, I have no idea. I have written them to be indifferent mostly, that's true, as you can tell from their interactions in Chapter five, there isn't a lot of animosity there. It's mostly just that they forget. About your idea… At the moment… It doesn't work with the story I'm afraid. However, keep coming up with them – I've made a decision to use your premonition idea in a way so I'm not dismissing your ideas out of hand. Just need a little less family involvement with it. Thanks for reviewing!_

**_Kyoshiro-Crimson-King – _**_Incredible? AND IN CAPITALS? Wow, it must have been good :D… Revenge will be swift and deadly, but not yet. _

**_jka1 – _**_Yeah, a lot of people can do things you don't expect them to do… Well more should be coming up!_

**_xxxxTwilighter For Everxxxx – _**_Yeah, it's horrible. And no, we'll not see that for a long time. I'm afraid to tell you that at least for the next ten or so chapters, possibly always in this story, we don't see outside of Chris's mind. What we see, is through him, coloured by his mind and experiences. And yeah, next chapter, soon. _

**_Jessie(1&2)_**_ – Thanks for the review but I think I should do some explaining before I let it get any further. Child abuse comes in different forms, and someone's response to it **will** be different from another person's. There is no one set way to respond to abuse. Yeah, some children get violent, or churlish or just don't bother responding. Some children focus and get out, others languish in a pit of hell for years. And I will grant you, that your scenario of panicking inside rather than externally is equally likely to happen when a child is put in that situation. What you have to understand is that this has never happened before to Chris. It's never been this violent, this over reactive before. Yes, he's been ignored. Yes, he's had the belt taken to him in an over reaction by his father more than a few times. But he always could walk away, or distract himself or just work his way through it. Last time, he had a light, food, books and homework to keep his mind off of it when he was locked away. A bed to sleep on. It was a weekend. He knew they were coming back in a few days. He could get through because he knew when the end should come. Now, he's in a cell. A toilet and that's it. He's got five months before he's due to return to school. Five months is a long time to be locked in a prison cell like this. His response is valid, in a different way to yours – he's petrified, doesn't know what to do and tries to appeal to his **mother**_. _It's** instinctive** – your mother **should** protect you._ _It just so happens that she won't be kind and let him out, in a nut shell. As for first person, it's an experiment which is currently working well – I'm trying to let you see inside his head, and in third person it just doesn't work as well. I find it too stilted and long winded. And as for being a whiny bitch… Well, he's got prerogative. He's been ignored, shut away and neglected for fourteen years going on fifteen. There won't be an explanation just like that – that's the whole reason it's going to take a while to get to the bottom of 'why?' That would be far too easy and complicated just to put in an explanation – just to say it like that. If every book did that, they'd all be about twenty pages long. Getting the why is always going to be harder than getting the how, who, when and where. I don't deny that you know abuse cases, that you know stories of strength in the face of adversity and all that, but you have to understand, whereas some might rise to the challenge and fight back, others will shrink away and I'm afraid, our Chris here, he's a bit of a shrinking violet. _

**_wiccafaith – _**_Some addictions are good for you~ Chocolate comes to mind! More is coming, just let me write some more!_

**_LightLessStar_**_ – Yeah, I have read ACCI, and yeah it is sad. Child abuse is never something that should be taken lightly, especially with the last few years in the British media. Baby P, the Newcastle child and so on. Trigger warning – got it. Will post it on the tear jerking chapters! Toodle Pip!_

**_kuhekabir – _**_Yeah, but give Wyatt some time! He needs to plan a rescue – oops. Shouldn't have told you that…_

**_phil_**_ – Ah, my dear phil :D I'm so glad you took motivation from my chapter. I just love your description "I was sad studying math" – given my previous history with the subject, it's pretty likely I'd be sad studying it too! More is on its way, never fear!_

**_skyinthenightslove_**_ – Sweet Mary Mother o' God… Slow down there! I'll answer you in a PM because it's a little too much to answer on here. I'd go as long as the chapter again. Thank you so much for reviewing!_

**_Anonimo_**_ – Thanks for the review, and for this you get two for the price of one! _

**_ella_**_ – Keep being excited yet – you've got a whole story to go!_

**_Charmed-Life_**_ – I thought I was the only one who did that! Looking through other people's review replies for extra details! Hi, review reply reading buddy! Glamours (that's how I spell it anyway) would be kind of cool, but not used in this story (at least at the moment). I think a lot of it is just that people don't notice. I mean, baggy clothes, and being quiet lets you get away with quite a lot. You just be plausible and reasonable in your excuses and nobody thinks twice. Thanks for the compliments on the writing style and characters plus relationships. That's why I'm experimenting with this writing style – trying to get more into the story and into Chris's head. As for the spell thing… You're right in that it doesn't come from a potion or something. It's much more… innate. Closer to home. There's a lot more to it than that, but that's a large part of the reason why Chris is treated that way. Review reply you later! _

_Kaylen Cooper – Well, your suspense will have to wait just another week and you can have chapter nine!_

_And last but not least, **Serephalexiel – **Wow? Is that a good wow or an OMG it sucks so bad I can't believe it wow? It is way harsh, but you know. Magic and a complicated history don't make for the best bedmates at any time. AND YES! You hit it exactly on the head. It's like getting back someone you knew, someone you cared very deeply for, for a long long time, and then he's **nothing** like he was before. You almost feel betrayed and wronged after all you've done and been through for them and then they're nothing like what you needed back.. Again, you hit it on the nail when you said about the cousins. NONE of them are over about twelve. They're not going to question anything at all – why would they? At their age, the most important thing is what do I want for Christmas. I can imagine why so many people get your name wrong! I keep checking it letter by letter~ I still think you have an awesome name by the way. Does it mean anything in particular or are you like me and pick something because it sounds good? _

**Feel free to raise any questions you may have, and I'll do my best to reply to them, either on here, or in a PM if it'll be too long or spoilery! Thank you for reading!**

**SSS~**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi again. **

**Here's chapter number nine, and I've spent the last few weeks playing around with it. It did go on with the torture a bit longer; but there were a few starting objections, so I've done some reworking. Review replies on the bottom. **

**kuhekabir, Tired - this is the last abuse/Torture chapter. Next chapter - something monumentous happens and we get to see someone other than Chris, Piper and Leo. This is just adds in the last touches. Thanks for your patience and the reviews. **

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Being in here, it's taught me something that I never really understood – all the books and psychology textbooks never explain it well enough.

How someone can go mad in a world of silence.

In here, I crave even the slightest amount of noise, the smallest amount of speech, of the sound of television theme tunes. Anything I can find – sometimes I press my ear against the door, or the floor or some of the walls, to see if I can catch the sound of conversation, the noise of someone living their day to day life. When I lost my vision, sound became my next sense I came to depend on.

And I completely and passionately_ loathe_ it.

The sound of my own heartbeat, the sound of breathing and of my skin peeling off the floor as I remind myself to turn over at least while I'm awake – it's threatening to drive me insane. I thought I lived in a quiet life before – now, that seems to me like I lived in the middle of an airport for the all the noise it had. In here – there's hardly anything. A few words, a stream of canned television laughter, an explosion from Wyatt's television when he plays a video game – they've become precious memories – I try to recall them in the dead of night, when the only sounds are my breathing, my heartbeat and the sound of silence. I'm desperately searching my memories for the sounds of the sea, of the wind through trees, the sound of cars and horns and of people in crowds.

I want to smell chocolate, coffee, the smell of warm bread in the morning – instead all I can smell is sewage, sweat and fear – and you can smell fear. It's acrid, pervasive and smells like blood and iron and the smell of nothing else in the world. I want to smell the inside of a Starbucks, the smell of Indian food – leather, and a rose, and the incense of the school chapel. I want to see sunlight dancing on water, trees moving in the breeze, a child on a swing. I want to hear laughter, speech, the sound of a computer booting up.

I want to read a book, read a street sign, trace the Braille on the school doors and read the plain English to know what it means. Stupid, stupid things. I want to go back to school – to do math and read Shakespeare and to walk down a corridor and know exactly where I'm going.

It's things I thought I'd never miss, things I'd always taken for granted. Things which in books, and films they always say and you think they're so cliché and yet… I would like nothing more now, than to walk along a beach, smell salt in the air, see the setting sun, feel sand between my toes as the sea rushes over them. It's stupid, how badly I want that – how much I just want simple touch and taste – how much I could kill for a slice of bread.

At night, I wake up, and my stomach feels like it's digesting itself, my back is killing me, my eyes are burning from the heat, and my lungs feel like they're trying to breathe through soup, and I could swear I can smell the sea, taste chocolate or chicken and hear the sound of the birds singing – even my _dreams_ are lying to me now.

I wake up and my body tells me I'm hungry and my back tells me it can't take anymore and my mind just locks onto the target of getting out and I'm able to go a bit more, a bit further.

Every day through, my body tells me I'm not doing too well. It reminds me by making me dry heave – trying to get rid of a poison that it doesn't have – sweat pouring out of me when I need to retain as much water as I can – my limbs twitching when I'm just lying there – cramps randomly affecting muscles. My head throbs constantly – my mouth feels like a desert. I just tell myself one more day, one more hour, ten more minutes and I'm free, I just have to hang on for a little more. My body believes my mind, but my mind doesn't believe I'm getting out.

I hear it whispering lies to me – that I'll never get out, I'll never see the light of day again, showing me images of my own dead body. It tries to make me commit suicide, choose my own way out – to make sure at least they won't dispose of my life too ingloriously – just my body. It lies to me, but every day it gets a little more persuasive, a little more convincing than last time. It's my own personal demon - my very own Barbas, demon of Fear – and one day, I know I'll start listening to it.

In here, it's not just these four walls that are driving me insane.

It's my own _mind._

It's sometime in the middle of the day again, I don't know what time it is though. I can only tell by the feeling of the room heating up again. I think it's just me and Wyatt – based on the last few weeks, it's been just us during the day. I'm hungry, so hungry. Food is just an apple or whatever, and I know I've only had more than four but less than ten of them in the last few weeks so...

I'm just tired and just so weary of the world. In this room, sleep is a refuge and I've been mostly sleeping my way through the punishment. The toilet in the corner is getting full, and if Mom doesn't let me out of here in the next few days, I'm going to start sharing the room with overflowing human waste.

I brace my elbows on the floor and pull my way across the room away from the toilet. My knees no longer want to work and I daren't try to stand up, in case I fall over and hit my head so hard I never wake up. I feel my right hand pull me along, searching for the wall where I can rest my back. My breathing should sound loud, and harsh in the still air, but I can't tell. Mom took my hearing away a few days ago – something to do with me being rude to her. I dunno. I've given up trying to understand her – now I just wait for her to give me what water she will and try to ignore her taunts – or what I assume is her taunts. I can't hear – remember? Mom never touches me – _never_. I can't remember when she last did – probably when she put me in here but before that? Weeks – more likely months.

Dad likes to torture me. He gave me salt water a while ago – but he didn't tell me. I heaved for hours into the toilet, my mouth as dry as the desert, feeling like my guts were tearing themselves in two. Another time, he gave me a slow acting poison, causing crippling stomach pains. It was like I had swallowed a live animal or something, and my guts wrenched around like they were desperate to escape. I curled up on the floor and begged someone to put me out of my misery. Nobody came. Sometimes, he just likes to give me the bottle to drink and then steal it away after a few mouthfuls. He power trips on it. I know he does, I can _feel _the smugness radiating off of him. He doesn't touch me either – he just power trips from afar.

_Bastard._

Mom took my hearing away, and it's like being locked inside your own head. I can't even hear the sounds of my own body. I live in silence, existing inside my own head completely. You never realise how much you value your senses until they get taken away from you and it feels wrong. Inherently and physically wrong to be without any kind of knowledge of the outside world.

She also stole my left arm, leaving it entirely without feeling or ability to move. I don't remember what that was for – maybe it was for disobeying or something. I dunno, I can't hear anymore can I? Sometimes, I have to feel with my other hand, just to check it's still there. There's just nothing on that side - it's like I never had an arm in the first place. It's going to be hell if I ever get back to school, but something tells me that that's not going to happen. Slowly, she's going to steal every part of my own body from me, until my mind is all that's left.

It's like everything the two of them do is to send me further and further into my own mind, retreating back into the last safe zone I have left to me. They're driving me towards something -destroying hope and faith in rescue or getting out alive.

God, I've turned into a fucking depressive. _If _I get out alive. _If_ there's a rescue. _If if if if if... _Such a little word and I'm already coming to hate it like I hate my parents... It's so fucking laughable, and it's fucking true all the same. The oppressive heat, the lack of food and water, the horrible sanitation – was this what it was like in the prison camps in the Holocaust? Or was this what it was like in the experiments of the Nazis, a prolonged torture of Guantanamo Bay? I'm in the Charmed One's house, in a nice neighbourhood in San Fransisco in the Good Ol' US of A, I'm fifteen years old and I'm locked in a cell and tortured. By my own parents. Who woulda thunk it? Who the fuck decided this was right? Nobody did - but it's still happening! All my debating team sessions, all my novel reading and I'm still the one caged like an animal!

If they're going to take everything from me, including my own body, they'd better hurry. A healthy human can survive around sixty days without regular, sustained food and water. Maybe longer.

I'm not healthy.

I'm not going to last another couple of weeks.

* * *

**So, two things to cover now. **

**First of all, a question to you. What do you think about Chris getting a whitelighter? The only reason I mention it, is because a few people have talked about in reviews and PMs; and I wanted to get your views on it. Some people have mentioned Prue, or Grams or Penny, others haven't specified... What I'm asking is that if you have a suggestion or want a particular person to Chris' whitelighter please tell me in a review or PM. As much detail as possible - a whitelighter must be at least somewhat compatible with their charge (even if they have an antagonistic relationship), and I'd need to know your justification for your choice if possible. If you don't want him to have a whitelighter then that's fine too - I'm going to carefully weigh up both sides first before I make a decision, so again, leave me a PM or a review telling me so. **

**Second of all, review replies!**

**Chapter Seven  
**

**CharmedSakuke101 **- _Yeah, she is being a bitch, but there's method to my madness, if not hers. Thanks for the compliment! Another chapter is coming soon. _

**Seraphalexiel - **_(My spell check hates your name, by the way~ Keeps wanting to correcting to something else) **Way** beyond own good and all that clap-trap. _

**Chapter Eight**

**JinKa7 - **_Wow, I completely forgot I stashed this on AFF - note to self - post all chapters at once! I keep forgetting about things like that because is so much easier to post on. Nah, you didn't annoy me about the changing on definitions - I recently learnt they're airing on LivingTV here so I was still wrong. Your goading didn't quite work, at least on AFF D: But on here, there's going to be far more regular updates (well... once every few months or so then a flurry of updates during random seasons!) and I'll keep checking in on PMs and stuff. There will be no combustion of Piper I'm afraid, but I can oblige with some Chris Angst instead? Thanks for the compliments on the story, and that's what I'm trying to go for - lots of focus on characters, and not just racing through it. This is the last chapter for building things up, and then it's onto something rather more exciting?_

**merrypoptartlover - **_No prophesies here, I'm afraid. That's all a bit Harry Potter, in my experience, unless you work it really well. I'm just not looking for that angle on this story. Good suggestion though!_

**RaisedbyCharmed** - _Strong family ties and unity between the sisters was one of the reasons why I prefer the early series of Charmed than the second half - although the special effects and overall plotlines were somewhat nicer in the later part, I disliked that they took focus from the family and sisters to such an extent that a major theme became barely there unless it was a plot device. 'one of the most amazing pieces of writing i've ever read'? Really? I think this isn't even that brilliant (I'm following a Roswell story with 107 chapters and each one is as good as the last if not better!) but I like that it inspires you to keep writing. Maybe I'll drop by in a while and give you a bell on one of your stories. Should I be worried that you love my twisted sisters and Leo? :P I wanted to take a fresh look at the relationships, hence why they're all against him, rather than, as you say, the one standing by his side. Same reasoning behind the lack of instant love or overt sexual advances or torture between Chris and Wyatt - I want this to be as in depth and realistic as it can be in terms of the progression of this relationship - they take time to form, and that's where I'm aiming. Piper's reasoning... Close, in that yes, but no sort of way... You're close enough that I won't correct you. Phoebe and Paige's husbands are well out of the loop - way way out of the loop. The incident at the breakfast table is the first they've seen in a long time - as in, it's been years since they've seen a blow-up like that. The husbands know about the TimeTravelling Chris but only in the same way that you're distantly aware of cousins you've never seen, or family who died a while ago. They've seen a few pictures and heard a few memories, but only in passing. They've got no idea who he was as a person apart from one extremely rush meeting when they saved the world. I'll do my best to keep you on the edge of your feet, and next chapter is just coming. _

**Kyoshiro-Crimson-King** - _Thanks - I really want to go for a deep focus on torture - too many authors gloss over it, or don't focus on the psychogical aspect of it, and I wanted to represent that. Torture is much more about the mind than the body, hence the extended explorations into Chris' mind. I'm looking forward to revenge but that won't happen for a while. _

**anxious reader** _- excellent; soaring spirits are good for the soul! More Wyatt interaction coming up in the next chapter, and stay on the edge of your seat because it's only going to get weird!_

**dvfan - **_Justice will be served, but later, and Wyatt will be doing something to help Chris soon. Keep reading and thanks for reviewing. Also - do you know why your review posted twice? Not complaining (it bumps my review score!) but it's weird..._

**bob_ - _**_I'm updating. Thanks for the review!_

**PapiEsteven - **_thank you for the compliment and the next chapter should be out sometime soon (though judging by my past record, that's not exactly a firm promise... ;/)_

**Jooheika - **_Now that would be a spoiler~ Thanks for a review!_

**TaylorMyaTaylorMya - **_i have chosen to make it as horrifying as possible - what I've found to be missing in these kind of stories is a lack psychological warfare, and I hope, by introducing this, that you get to really see the genuine depths that it takes to make a story. I was craving a long indepth story without hapless romance, and since I couldn't find it, I decided to write it :D Thanks for the review!_

**Phil - **_Good - you got what I wanted readers to feel. I really want to put you in the mindset of Chris; what he's feeling and how he's suffering, rather than just a bit of writing before "AND TEH MIRACLE SAVE FROM WYATT - ALL BETTAH NAO!" Please excuse the caps abuse and the 'internet speech' but that's where I wanted to focus your attention away from. Next is something a bit more exciting!_

**why do you cry bloody tears - **_Thanks for reviewing and don't worry. Plenty of hate for Piper and Leo to go around!_

**jka1 - **_I do the same when I'm waiting for one of Wynja's stories to update. Minor happy dance and a small YAY! If I can ask, why do you understand Leo being a 'dick' in your words, but not Piper? I'm just interested in your reasoning, nothing big if you don't want to explain. _

**CharmedSakuke101 - **_Awesome is a good compliment! Like I said, abuse is variable, and I'm glad its coming across so well in my stories. I like knowing that I've done things right~ Your update is coming! Hold ya horses, please (*is quietly buried under rising tides of work and education*)_

**I-Love-Trunks1 - **_Wyatt will be coming soon, but I can't garuentee much more than that. (Or spell that word either...) Thanks for reviewing!_

**peruser **_**- **I think your question as to whether other people exist in this family is a good one, actually. In this house, think of it as a group of four parts. Chris on his own, Piper and Leo waging war against Chris, Wyatt doing something that nobody knows, and then everyone else as background noise and neutral parties. Like I said to SITNL in a PM, this is the first time in a while that Chris and Leo/Piper have come to active arguing in a long time - usually it's been very secretive and nobody knows too much about the private war the two factions are waging. It's unusual for it to spill out into a place where everyone gets to see it. The rest of the family generally is too immersed in their own lives to know what is going on, and well... they don't notice because that's not what they do. Intervening in personal abuse and deepseated family issues is something the Halliwell family are quite good at avoiding. _

**FalloutAngel - **_*pats* I'm slightly confused by the last part of your review - what do you mean 'what lie Wyatt fail for?' I'd really like to know, since a lot of the reviews on here have actually given me some suggestions about the story, so yours might be helpful as well. Thanks for reviewing anyway!_

**LittleBloodyJ - **_When I read the first part of your review, I nearly had a heart attack! *fans dramatically* Thank you for the compliments and more is coming! I promise~!_

**skyinthenightslove - **_There will no dying on Chris' part (not yet anyway) but the idea of Prue is interesting... Hmm... More thought is needed before I make a desicion. Piper's spell is, as I found in the Charmed universe, entirely based on her percieved threats. She views him as a threat, thus it worked. Wyatt is dangerous, make no mistake, and Chris knows it. Which son it protected is debatable - I'll have more on it this time next chapter. Whitelighters... as the challenge up there, you have inspired me. I'll answer on this next time, when I get a feel for what the reviewers want. No healing from Leo, and no Social Services. And as for Wyatt... Next chapter is interesting is all I'll say!_

**Seraphalexiel - **_Good choice of wow, then! Oh yeah. There's a hella lot more going than natural resentment and all that. You're close enough on the reasoning behind what's going in order to stand somewhat uncorrect, but I will warn you that that's not all there is to it. No questions from me, I get the message of Good Chapter loud and clear! (Sounds cool is a good enough reason for a name~)_

**history - **_No living with his grandfather I'm afraid. I'm struggling to find a place for Victor in this story, but I hope it'll fall into place soon :/... Thanks for reviewing!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello!**

**It's just me. The Author. Popping in. To Say hi! **

**And to apologise for the ... 185 day wait in between this chapter and the last. That's over six months... Holy crap, am I sorry. You'll err, see my note as to help with this at the bottom. Again, so very very very very very very sorry guys... *forgiveness plea***

**And to let you know there's a note on the bottom of this, and review replies and a promise are on the next page. **

**Thanks for reading folks, and have a nice night! **

**

* * *

**

I'm laying on the floor, facing away from the door. I've given up searching for a blast of cool air from under the door. It's not coming, and I can't be bothered to move.

Suddenly, I feel vibrations from the stairs, and I sigh. They're coming back – maybe Dad since the footsteps are heavier than Mom's. They're stopping outside my door, and I brace myself for the new torture to happen. I'm not going to give them satisfaction of turning around; they're going to have to do it their damn selves to get me to pay attention to them. Passive Aggression at its best.

The door opens slowly, and I relish the cool air across my back. It's pleasant and I just enjoy it while I can. It'll be gone in a few minutes anyway, so why bother reacting?

A hand touches my shoulder, and I flinch. They've never touched me before – is this a new kind of torture?

The hand touches my shoulder again, wraps itself around my arm and pulls me gently closer to the door. I can't fight it – I'm not strong enough and it hurts too much to move. Another hand grabs for my ankle, pulling me closer than ever to the door.

Self preservation kicks in now, and I want to survive this – I'm not just going to let him take me! He's stronger than I am, stronger than me like the elephant is to the ant, that I know for sure, but god help me he's got a fight on his hands if he's going to get me to go with him without a fight!

I twist, writhe, trying to stop Dad taking me out of here – he's going to kill me. I don't know how I know this, but I know it as surely as I know that Mom hates me, and that gravity isn't a force to be played with and that fire makes demons die quickly and painfully.

I kick hard, and suddenly both hands are gone. I scramble into the room, back into a world where I'm not really safe, but a world I know – but Dad follows me, I can feel his vibrations on the floor, the air eddying around me from the movement. I try to kick again, but a hand catches my ankle and my knee protests as it's bent further than it finds acceptable. I feel myself being hauled closer, and I aim another kick with my other leg. It connects with something soft again, and I reach out to put the last crystal back into place – I don't know if it will protect me but something – anything – has to be better than fighting whatever or who is going to kill me bare handed.

It's ironic. I'm so damn tired of life one minute and the next I'm fighting for the ability to live.

The hand makes another grab for my ankle, catches it and grips it hard. My brain goes spacey for a minute – I think I can feel the bones in my foot go _crunch_ like they were never designed to do. My search for crystal ends in me flat on my back in pain – I don't even know where the fucking thing is anymore... A fist to my stomach and I'm winded and down for the count, like a animal to slaughter.

Death is not without a sense of humiliation then...

The hand on my ankle moves to my chest, the body it's connecting to moving to loom over me, one foot on either side of me. I feel it as I reach out to scratch, claw, maul with my one good hand, searching for a weak spot on someone who might as well have been Goliath in all the weak spots I could find. The hand is back again, touching over my heart – then up to my face. Dad's going to smother me, suffocate me in my own bedroom – please, God, don't let me die like this.

Please, God, _please!_ I wanted to die, but not like this. Not like this...

A hand touches my temple, my mouth. I can feel myself sobbing, feel the tears running down my cheeks, but it's all silent as I try to pound on Dad's chest, any part of him I can reach with my one good arm to fend him off. A hand catches my wrists, both of them, batting my hands away from him. A piece of cloth comes up near my face, as I lean my head back, back as far as I can push it, trying to evade it. I push with my feet, claw with my hands, bite with a soundless mouth.

If the Reaper has my name on his list, it's going to be one hell of a fight before I go with him. Well, as much as I can fight.

Dad drops onto my stomach, straddling me and his weight crushes most of the air out of my lungs. I lay stunned, winded and immobile for a few seconds. It's all it takes.

It's enough so that he can rest one knee on my good arm, and I can feel the bones protesting and rubbing bone on bone together as the full weight of a full grown man settles onto weakened flesh and wasted muscle. I arch back, trying to pull my arm out from under his knee but he's too strong, too heavy and my efforts are in vain. Dad's here. Dad's going to kill me. I'm going to die.

Why am I still surprised?

One hand comes behind my head, and Dad's other one slips over my face, holding the cloth against my mouth. I scream, soundless and writhe to try to get him off, but he's too strong and the darkness in my mind begins to over take me. If I had my powers right now, I'd orb out, but all I can say is how pathetic I am, arching my back and writhing in the darkness, blind, deaf, and _dumb_ as I die by my own father. His hands are made of flesh, but mine are ghost hands already for all the good they do.

Fuck it all. _Fuck _this life. And _fuck _this death as well. Maybe death isn't so bad, after all. At least I can't die again.

It's small comfort in this very dark, lonely place right now.

I fall into the abyss, my chest still heaving as I try to find oxygen. My arm goes slack and my head lolls back into the surprisingly gentle grip of my father. I feel my body relaxing, releasing any energy it might have had. I feel warm and cold at the same time as the gentle hand from behind my head lowers it to the floor and begins to stroke my cheek.

Who knew I could find comfort from him now, of all times?

He's never done this before, never held me and helped me and cared for me. My dad. The tender killer angel. God, how I hate thee, and all thy fucking angels. He wipes away my tears, as I feel everything go faint and distant. I can feel him lifting me up now, and the cold air from outside the room is barely felt. My head is cradled against Dad's chest and I feel soft cotton against my skin.

A voice in the back of my head says _Wait_... And I follow the instruction. Dad always preferred to wear rough cotton – nothing as soft as this.

I smell the scent of some expensive male cologne and some designer shampoo. Dad never brought cologne, and he had shampoo made from herbs not chemicals. Suddenly it makes sense.

As I drift into the abyss for the last time, I put it all together.

It's not Dad.

It's _Wyatt_.

* * *

**Okay, let's recap on the news. We have some author's notes and review replies which I'll get to in a minute, and then a verdict on the white lighter situation which we'll do first. **

**At the moment, the white lighter situation is thus:**

**1**_**) A **_**white lighter (not named/ an OC)**

**2) Prue**

**3) Penny**

**4) Grams**

**5) No white lighter at all. **

**Feel free to submit your opinion on this in your review for this chapter but this is your last chance – Chapter Eleven will hold not only a long chapter, but the **_**results**_** as well! If you want to vote again, you can, if you want to change your vote, you can, Hell - if you want to withdraw your previous vote you can. Every time someone suggests a character for the role, I will take note. Also, please give **_**reasons**_** – for example, someone said they thought Chris and Prue were very similar and listed all the reasons why. This helps me to write the story for you – gives me some idea of how I'm going to fit this whole new person in there. Remember, the more unusual your choice, such as Andy, or another, little known character, then the more I will think on it. **

**Every suggestion is noted and every suggestion counts towards your choice. If you don't vote, it's not going to win, people! **

**Next item on my agenda; review replies. Some people have mentioned that since the story has progressed review replies have been slowly increasing until they are longer than the chapter itself! Since I am incapable of having short reviews (I'm lonely in my normal life~), and I don't like to do review reply all by itself (reading responses to other people's reviews can be helpful), I propose a this as a solution: I will reply in the long way to everyone every third chapter – so Chapter Ten, Thirteen, Sixteen, Nineteen etc, and just reply to people with big questions if needed to via the chapter. It'll save on space, as they say. Next lot though are on the next 'chapter.' It's all author's notes and review replies, so please don't kill me! **

**And last but not least; a beta. Well, I say beta, I'm not looking for someone to be helping me with plot line on a really deep level, really, just someone to give me a kick up the backside via email, and to tell me I'm being a complete numbskull for missing something obvious like inventing extra rooms in the house, or saying Phoebe has blonde hair when I've written her brunette. I'd preferably like someone who knows the fandom quite well, as well the show, but someone who is also willing to give me a bit of help with it at times too – what's believable and what isn't. I'm experienced with the show, but the later seasons – after about mid way through season seven, it escapes me a bit – never did like Billie and her sister. **

**Review replies are over the page, along with a sneak preview of what is to come, and an extra incentive. **

**Chapter Ten**


	11. Please Read

A message for my readers. Please read this before reviewing "where is the next chapter?"

There won't be any updates on for a while. I'm just going to come out and say it, since I can't stop crying long enough to think of a nice way to put it.

My father died this morning.

And I don't think I can think of updating anything until after the funeral, and that's a while away - there's a coroner's inquest and lots of things to work out, and even then, it might take me awhile to get enough inspiration back.

My father wasn't a great man, and I won't be the first in line to say that he was perfect because he wasn't. But he was my father. And for some reason, I feel really guilty because he's dead. And I don't know why.

Anyway. Sorry. Still crying.

I thank you for all your support, and your kind words that you've given me over my time here, and I am truely grateful.

SnowStormSkies out.


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